


Gasoline Stars

by galacticlourry (orphan_account)



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anxiety, Asexual Character, Famous!Louis, Harry is very artsy in this, M/M, Mpreg, Non Famous!Harry, Recreational Drug Use, So there you go, Teen Pregnancy, Unplanned Pregnancy, Unsafe Sex, but there's no smut, even though it's not like that at all, i am disgusted honestly, lotta fluff and lotta kissing, pregnancy complications like bleeding, shitty parents, spoiler alert: the ace character is neither louis nor harry, think If I Stay crossed over with 16 & Pregnant, ultra anxiety like Harry is a mess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-27
Updated: 2015-02-27
Packaged: 2018-03-15 10:05:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 48,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3443189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/galacticlourry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>It reminded him of stardust, of the history of suns, and he supposed that was what the boy asleep on his shoulder had been created out of. The history of suns.</i>
</p><p> </p><p>...</p><p>Or, an AU where it's all nice and innocent until someone ends up pregnant. (That would be Harry.) Also known as the Mpreg AU I've doubt you've read before.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. January - February

**Author's Note:**

> Wow where did nearly 50k come from??? I honestly went a tinge bit insane while writing this and I was confronted with my procrastination demons and writer's block and I'm so happy this is finally finished.
> 
> Not to make this note extremely long, but I would like to thank Scarlett for holding my hand for nearly a year you deserve roses. Also for beta-ing tons of unfinished shit before this story but making me feel confident with getting my words out on paper.
> 
> Thanks to E and C for beta-ing when this was a big pile of shit. I appreciate it.
> 
> This story is dedicated to Bre, who has a very lovely baby boy and has been through hell and back. I miss you.
> 
> I don't own/know/associate with any part of One Direction. But Larry is real.
> 
> I made a [playlist](http://8tracks.com/morninghaz/gasoline-stars). It's pretty dope.
> 
> (p.s. smoking is bad, kids!!! also, safe sex is great sex!!!!)  
> Happy reading!

○ January ○

Picasso did not die for this shit.

Harry let out a frustrated cry when he realised the bags under the girl's eyes were shaded horribly. Also, the ultramarine violet he had painted onto the canvas was beginning to crud, and he threw the tube across the room and dropped to the colour-splattered floor with a thud.

“This is hopeless!” he huffed, crossing his arms and looking over to his best friend who apparently missed the whole debacle because his eyes were glued to his camera. It was one of those fancy kinds that had numbers in its name that Harry never cared enough to commit to memory.

Niall slowly slid his eyes toward the disgruntled heap of artist at his feet, raising an unimpressed eyebrow. “You okay?”

“No.”

The boy glanced over at the destroyed piece, and if he was surprised, his face didn’t show it, his eyes gliding effortlessly back to Harry. He pursed his lips for a moment, assessed the situation, and – when he seemed to think that Harry wasn’t about to fling himself off a building – smirked. The bastard. “Insanity makes the best art, they say.”

Harry flipped him off, lips jutted and knees pulled to his chest. He was _not_ going insane. He told Niall so.

 _“Right.”_ Setting his camera off to the side, Niall slipped off the stool and onto the floor, wrapping his arms around a bothered Harry. “Well, maybe you just need to get re-inspired, yeah?”

Paint was starting to dry against the back of Harry’s jeans. “And how do you suppose that is going to happen?”

Niall shrugged before standing and pulling Harry up as well. “No clue. I mean, you _could_ attempt leaving your house for once.” He walked back over to the supply-filled table and started fussing around in the clutter.

“Not likely.” Sighing, Harry looked over at his painting. The more he stared at it, the more hideous it became and the more he wanted to rip it to shreds except…this would be the third painting he destroyed this week alone. Not to mention that the sixth form art show was at the end of this term and he had zero inspiration. He decided to start cleaning up and tried his best to not remind himself of the mountain of homework he still had to do upstairs.

“What’s this?” Niall asked suddenly, holding up a crumpled invitation.

Harry rinsed the paint off of the bristles in the sink and looked over his shoulder to see what Niall was talking about. When he realised what the boy was holding, he rolled his eyes and flung the water off the brush, setting it back in the jar. “Nothing important.”

Niall squawked, looking up with wide eyes from the card stock. It was a sleek black with white fancy print, and Harry hated it. “What do you mean ‘nothing important’? Bro, this is an invite to one of the greatest music showcases in Britain that we just so happen to live less than an hour away from – and it’s next week! Why the _fuck_ was it balled up?”

Picking up the plastic wrap from the floor, Harry resisted rolling his eyes once again at his best friend’s stunned tone. “I have no clue, mate – maybe because it was sent by my deadbeat of a father? Just a guess.”

Without looking up, he heard Niall sputter and practically fall off the stool – again. “Harry fucking Styles, you are absolutely not telling me that you were considering not going to such a legendary event because of your father, who, may I remind you, could possibly introduce you to many of his clients – you’re not telling me that, are you?”

Harry threw the plastic wrap in the bin and turned back with his arms crossing over his chest. “No, I’m not telling you that. What I’m telling you is that I wouldn’t go even if he hadn’t invited me.”

A horrified gasp came out of Niall’s mouth like it was his first time hearing such a thing. He collapsed dramatically to the floor, invitation clutched over his heart. “Please…please tell me you’re lying, H.” He sat up when Harry ignored his antics. “This is _so_ big, Harry, do you not understand? And the fact that you simply disregarded it leads me to believe that you’ve been doing the same thing for the past ten years of our friendship, and I cannot say that I’m not truly heartbroken about it.”

“Niall—”

“I’ve been lied to.”

“Look—”

“I’ve been cheated on!”

“Uh—”

“I’ve been bamboozled!” the blond boy shouted, holding onto the black card like a lifeline. “All my dreams simply thrown away to the wind”—he proceeded to do a massive gesture with his arms to punctuate his point—“because my best mate decided to hide all the golden tickets away from me.”

As he waited for the dramatic monologue to end, Harry fixed his expression into one of impassiveness before he sighed. He knew Niall, and he knew that Niall was never going to let this go. It wasn’t because of the music, either. It was because all this time Niall could have been taking pictures of celebrities and having backstage passes to tons of concerts which would have made his portfolio for university double up a long time ago. _Technically_ that made Harry a bad friend, even though he was pretty sure that if Niall wasn’t in the best of terms with his own father and the man had a crazy amount of art supplies, he wouldn’t mend the relationship just to get Harry some acrylics and pencils. Unfortunately, that theory would never see the light of day considering that Niall and his father were on the best of terms and Bobby was a real estate CEO, not an art hoarder. Nevertheless.

Harry wiped his hands against his jeans while Niall pouted, his blue eyes widened to make him appear inaccurately innocent for a guy who constantly tried to persuade Harry to illegally spray paint buildings. “What do you want from me exactly?” Harry asked.

Niall lit up at the sight of Harry’s resistance breaking, and he was up and squeezing him tightly before Harry could blink. “I want you to take us both into town next Saturday.” He glanced at the invitation and skimmed over it again. “You won’t even have to speak to your father beforehand; he says your passes are already reserved.”

Harry snorted and pushed the leech of a boy away from him. “I’m not going to speak to the bastard at all, but okay. You’re driving, though.”

“Fair enough.” Niall looked at the invite with heart eyes once more before pocketing it. “I’ll pick you up from work then, yeah?”

“Whatever,” Harry said, following him out of the basement, his unfinished painting left standing in the middle of the floor.

❧

The following week passed by quickly enough, and although Harry had attempted – and failed – to create three more pieces, he had gotten caught up in his school work. Every single one of his teachers fell helplessly to his dimpled charm and allowed him to turn in all of the assignments he forgot to work on the past month while he stared at a blank canvas – even Ms. Elle who was his English teacher and had probably seen every trick and heard every excuse during her several decades of teaching. What could he say – he had a gift.

He wasn’t too stressed about keeping his grades up with having sent off his university application and portfolio. All he had to focus on was having enough pieces for the spring show to pass and saving up money for next year’s rent. That was why he worked on the weekends at an art school teaching six and seven year olds how to “art”, essentially.

His shift was over in half an hour and his phone kept buzzing in his back pocket with texts from an overexcited Irish lad. Brooklyn, his star protégé, set the flower diadem that she had been working on all class on top of his curls and squealed when it fit perfectly. She walked around to stand in front of him, clapping her hands together.

“It looks good?” he asked, smiling at her proud expression.

“Absolutely!” she responded, her two bottom teeth missing. “I’ll make you a tiara next class if you want?”

He chuckled. “All right, Brook; that sounds lovely.”

Brooklyn smiled and high-fived Harry. “Rad. I’ll have my Uncle Z buy me some green jewels to match your eyes.”

The remainder of the class was spent with the kids cleaning up their mess and waiting on their parents. A little girl called Lux braided Harry’s hair with the claim that since her mum was a cosmetologist, she ‘knew what she was doing’. She was actually quite good for a seven year old, and when her mum came to pick her up, she made Harry show off his fishtail.

“Oi, that’s quite nice, duckie,” Lou commented, giving a soft smile to Harry and mouthing _‘sorry’_ as she ushered the girl out the door.

Niall arrived five minutes after the last kid had left, honking insistently even though Harry was _right there_. “Come _on,_ Styles! Pick up those feet!”

“Literally shut up,” Harry said, placing his supplies satchel in the back and buckling up his seat belt. Safety and shit. “This better be fun if I’m missing out on my after-work nap.”

“It’s going to be legendary, mate. Trust me.”

❧

“‘Legendary’ my arse,” Harry mumbled as they made their way backstage, various smokes clouding his airways.

As he hacked up a lung, Niall eyed him wearily before clapping him on his back. “H…you seriously need to get out more... or bring your inhaler next time. Liam!”

Across the room, a boy hesitated from where he was entering a dressing room, hands full with three glasses. Briefly squinting because of the dim lighting, his expression lit up when he recognised who had called him. “Horan? Come on over here! Look Zayn, it’s Niall.”

Those two names were vaguely familiar, and Harry grabbed Niall’s elbow when he began to walk over. “They’re from The Rogue, aren’t they?”

Niall’s eyebrows rose and a surprised laughed shot out of his throat. “Well, look at you keeping up with pop culture.”

Harry resisted shoving him. He only knew about the band because that was all he heard around school and all he saw on television when he bothered turning it on. Also, he was pretty certain Niall had played their LP on the drive up. “Let me guess, you know them because you interned for a couple of their local shoots?”

“You guessed right.”

“Of course.”

Niall chuckled and continued moving across the room, thus dragging Harry along from where he was still attached to his elbow. “Lads!” he greeted the two boys, all joviality and sunrays. “Long time, no see!”

The short haired boy – Liam – was now only holding two drinks and laughed with his whole body. He was wearing ripped jeans and a graphic tee, as well as the boy who stood at his side sipping from his glass with a lit cigarette hanging from his fingers. “We’ve seen you just a few weeks back, innit. At that Kanye concert.”

Harry frowned and pinched Niall’s skin. They were supposed to have gone to that concert together, but Harry had been forced to attend his mother’s business dinner that consisted of a guest list of the snobbiest designers he had ever met. _No,_ he wasn’t still upset.

Laughing, Niall used his free hand to pat at Harry’s hip. “Zayn, Liam, this is my best mate, Harry.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” Liam said while Zayn gave a single nod. “There’s usually three of us, but Lou seems to be perfecting his hair.”

Harry smiled politely and gave a look around the room when Niall directed the conversation back to himself. Clothing racks were stationed throughout the backstage area, and the only light provided was from the numerous makeup vanities against the walls, home to boys and girls that existed behind the clouds of hairspray and glittery outfits. People were everywhere, the air full of loud chatter and bustling fabric, and Harry felt a bit claustrophobic. His eyes wandered back to where Zayn was giving him a glance-over. When he caught Harry’s gaze, he raised an unimpressed brow and tucked his cig back into his mouth.

Before Harry could open his mouth, another boy came out of the room, hair swooped up in a quiff and face shaven clean. His jean jacket was rolled up at the sleeves, and his hands held a paper of words that he moved his lips to silently. He settled in the space between Zayn and Liam, and the latter stopped midsentence to acknowledge his presence. “Why do you always take the longest in hair and makeup?” he asked, handing one of the glasses over. And this must be Louis.

The boy crumbled the sheet and tossed it behind him before smacking a kiss to Liam’s cheek for the drink. He pulled back and swallowed the alcohol quickly. “Sorry,” he said, rolling an ice cube around his tongue, “that my hair is precious and takes time to be sculpt perfectly into a masterpiece such as this one here.” His face broke into a sunny grin when he took in his company. “Ay, Niall! What’s going on, mate?” He reached across to grab him in a hug. When he pulled back, he settled in closer to Zayn, taking the cigarette from his mouth and popping it into his own. Due to it being none of Harry’s business, he tried not to gawk when Zayn slapped Louis’ bum in retaliation but didn’t make a move to take back his smoke, and _honestly_ it was none of his business.

Louis’ eyes found Harry then, and he blew out an ash coloured stream. When Harry wrinkled his nose at the smell, the curves of Louis’ mouth lifted into an easy grin. “I’m Louis,” he introduced, holding out his hand.

“Harry,” he replied, shaking his hand. It was small, and gold, and the opposite of the boy’s apparent personality. It had only been five minutes, but Harry had a grasp on the boy’s aura – golden and vast as if he had no other choice than to have his words plug up cracks and fissures of unsaid conversations.

He had just dropped his hand when a voice thundered from behind him, “Boys! There you are.” And Lord behold, it was Daddy Styles in the flesh. Harry almost didn’t recognise him, with there being a decade of static silence in between them and all. He nudged Niall to turn around as the man approached, a woman with a headset and clipboard in hand rushing to stay at his side. He was as long and lean as ever, the only difference was that his black hair was now sprinkled with pepper as well as the scruff he was sporting. “Sound check is in five. I suggest you all start setting up your instruments.” His grey eyes scanned the group once then returned to the stagehand, and Louis stubbed out his cigarette in a fake plant while Zayn downed the rest of his alcohol.

“We’ll see you two after the show, yeah?” Liam asked, though it was more of a gentle demand than an inquiry.

“Sure thing,” Harry chirped and watched him walk backwards to his band.

His voice seemed to capture Des’ attention, and the man turned around, mid-conversation, his wide eyes finding Harry’s narrowed ones instantly. “Harry?” The name came out sodden with uncertainty and Harry tried his hardest not to roll his eyes. It took him long enough to recognise him, hadn’t it?

“Dad.”

He felt Niall stiffen at his side as the other three boys froze and turned around also.

Des opened his mouth to say something, but Harry grabbed Niall’s arm and walked him past his father and the stunned trio – Liam’s mouth agape, Zayn’s eyes narrowed, and Louis’ lips tilted in a smirk.

❧

Waiting for the set to start, Harry dug his teeth into his lime slice while Niall snapped pictures of the band setting up their microphones. “I don’t think your friends like me,” he said around the fruit.

Niall waved his hand dismissively at the comment and zoomed in on his screen. “Of course they do, Liam likes everyone.”

The room was buzzing with tangible energy, but then again that could have been the effect of whatever drink Niall had ordered for the both of them.  “Besides Liam.”

“Well, Louis didn’t completely ignore you like he did me the first time, so I wouldn’t say he doesn’t like you. And don’t worry about Zayn. He’s always like that before a performance. Something about getting in the zone. Singers.”

Harry hummed. “Yeah. Singers.”

Niall pocketed his phone and made a face at Harry and his fruit. “I’m going to get closer,” he said, leaning in so he could be heard over the guitar tuning. Niall groaned when Harry nodded but didn’t make to stand up. “Come _on,_ H. I can’t just leave you at the bar with all these potential predators.” He eyed the people around them sceptically.

Harry placed the lime wedge on a napkin. “Yes, you can.”

“No. I can’t. We made a pact when we were like twelve.”

“We made it last year,” Harry said, rolling his eyes. He didn’t like the official sound of the word “pact”, but he had agreed to neither of them leaving the other alone at a bar if they could help it. They promised back when Harry was in a relationship and was freshly seventeen. Back when he didn’t know how to hold his liquor or know how to say no to pretty boys and their requests.  None of those things were relevant anymore, however. He had ended his relationship a couple months back and had less than a month until his eighteenth. He had also learned that pretty boys could shove it if they couldn’t figure out that ‘no’ was a full sentence. The liquor holding on the other hand…

Niall stuck out his bottom lip and motioned at the bartender for two more glasses. “How am I supposed to get quality pictures from back here?”

“The zoom.” He glanced over at the stage and saw where Des was standing to the side of the stage gesturing at Louis. To be honest, Harry was trying to keep his interaction with his father at an absolute minimum, nearly non-existent. “You know I hate crowds,” he said, because it was true. He thanked the man when the drinks were sat in front of them and sipped through the straw.

“I do know that, yeah,” Niall sighed. He pouted once more before taking a quick swig of his drink and ruffling Harry’s curls. “Stay safe, kiddo. I love you.”

“Shut up,” Harry grumbled but let Niall smack a sloppy kiss to his cheek. “Have fun.”

❧

The boys performed songs that were electric and vibrant and had the whole room singing along. Harry was sure there was a separate feeling of intimacy that one would feel up close to the stage, but he felt his own kind back at the bar with his mixed drink and green fruits. The room might have felt large due to the sea of shimmering shadows between him and the stage, but it felt small when the purple and red lights would strike at the exact moment to amplify Liam’s muscles as he banged on the drum. How the blue and green lights flickered off of Zayn’s tucked bottom lip as he fingered a difficult scale on the bass. The way the golden light bathed Louis’ collarbones in glimmer when they peeked out of his tank as he reached a bone-chilling falsetto.

It was the colours that stayed in Harry’s mind when he watched Louis giggle into the microphone at the reaction of the crowd at the end of the set, and it was the colours that he wished he had in front of him when Niall came bounding back, face positively flushed and hands insistent as he pulled him away from the bar.

The backstage area was pulsating and the two boys pushed through the artists and fans to the centre where Louis, Liam, and Zayn rotated around one another’s post-show energy. Harry wasn’t convinced that they weren’t on crack.

Liam broke away when he saw Niall and Harry, and his smile was wider than it had been, all the jitters remained on the stage and left a sweaty, energetic boy in its place. “Hey! Did you guys enjoy the performance?”

“Like always,” Niall said, clapping him on the shoulder and staying there. “You were fucking amazing! Weren’t they, H?”

“Amazing.”

Liam giggled and melted against Niall’s side. “That’s great to hear. You two should come to our after party.”

“I second that,” Louis said as he walked over to them, Zayn at his side.

“What time is it?” Niall asked.

“Now, obviously. We’re done here.”

Harry furrowed his eyebrows when Niall seemed to accept that answer. “Isn’t the showcase only halfway through?”

Zayn shrugged and pulled Louis closer from where his arm was around his shoulders. Harry made a mental note to ask Niall about those two later. “It’s all good. Anyone who is worth listening to will be on the radio before next week.”

“That’s true,” Liam and Louis said at the same time, and the latter made to hit the former in his groin before Zayn pulled him out of reach.

“Sick, let’s do it!” Niall roared, and excused himself to go take pictures of someone he knew. Harry watched him leave and engulf a redhead in a hug, swallowing back his protests. It wasn’t that Harry was an introvert, but that was exactly what he was. He hadn’t signed up for a party, and he wasn’t opposed to going; it was just that whenever he went to one he would lose Niall amidst strangers and the flow of alcohol, and they hadn’t made a pact about what to do in those situations.

Louis seemed to spot his hesitation and gave him a small smile. “You don’t have to come if you don’t want to, babe.”

Harry startled at the endearment and how gentle it fell from the other boy’s mouth. Zayn had noticed as well, apparently, if the way he raised his eyebrow but kept his mouth shut was anything to go by. Before he could say anything, he spotted Des coming around the corner and watched as he patted the boys on their backs and gave them praises that even had Zayn batting his lashes bashfully. He sounded like a proud father, and that fact alone had Harry tasting acrid words on his tongue.

When Des finally turned towards him, his grin was tentative but as broad as it had ever been. “Did you like the set?”

Harry was faintly aware of the other boys’ gazes on them and decided to keep his own glued to Niall’s exchange. He was gushing over the ginger man’s guitar and his laughter seemed to cause the man’s smile to relax. He must be getting ready to go on. “Yes, it was fine.”

“Just ‘fine’?” Des asked incredulously like Harry was supposed to gush to him over his clients. As if.

“Sure.” Harry glanced over Des’ shoulder to where Louis and the boys were attempting to not eavesdrop. It didn’t surprise him that his father had erased him from his memory; thus, not telling his clients that he had a son. He would eavesdrop too, perhaps with more subtlety. “Hey,” he said, and all of them turned around. “I’ll go.”

Louis stared at him for a moment, eyes glued to his, before shrugging and telling the boys to start packing up the van.

Harry turned back to his father and folded his arms across his chest. “Thanks for the invitation, I guess.”

Des nodded, and dragged his gaze from the boys’ retreating backs. “Are you going to one of their parties?” he asked.

“Yes,” Harry replied, uncertain at his father’s tone. “Why?”

Des shook his head and scratched at his stubble. “Just be safe, all right?”

Harry snorted and opened his mouth to say where Des could stick his faux fathering concerns when Niall bounded over, immediately wrapping his arms around Harry’s waist. He didn’t miss the way his father tried to feign nonchalance, and he didn’t try to set anything straight either. If he had been around, he would have known that Niall and he were friends – nothing more or less. (He missed the other boys’ curious glances, however, as they flittered around with instrument cases and sound equipment.)

When Niall introduced himself, Des seemed to relax at his disarming smile. “I remember you; you were at some of the boys’ London shoots.”

“That’s me,” Niall said, and Harry squeezed his hand that rested on his hip in gratefulness. If he had to go to twelve parties to repay Niall for swooping in and saving him, then Harry supposed that was what it would cost.

After a few minutes of Niall’s charm, his father turned his attention back to Harry – much to Harry’s chagrin. “Do you still paint, Harry?”

“Yah,” he responded, resisting rolling his eyes out of his head. He’d never been interested in small talk, especially not with his own dad, and looked to where Louis appeared to be finished loading the equipment. He rested against the wall and was scrolling through his phone.

Des cleared his throat when he noticed that Harry wasn’t going to say anymore, and looked to where his son’s attention had been directed. “Oh, Louis!” he called the boy’s name, his voice like the first clap of thunder of an unexpected storm.

Louis pushed himself off the wall and strolled over. “Sup, D?” Harry coughed over his snort at the nickname.

“Just wanted to tell you to keep an eye on my boy tonight.” Harry didn’t disguise his snort this time. “All right, lads, time for me to go scope out some more talent.”

“Good luck with that,” Louis joked lightly.

Des clapped his shoulder before waving a goodbye to Niall and grabbing Harry in a hug. “I’ll keep in touch,” he mumbled as Harry let himself be hugged, but kept his own arms at his side.

“Of course you will,” he said when Des pulled back and was halfway across the room.

Louis gave him a small smile when he looked up before telling them that they were about to leave. When he walked away, Niall pinched Harry’s skin and chortled when Harry jumped out of his skin. “I knew you were staring!”

Harry blinked and he noticed that he was staring at the door Louis had just walked out of. He wouldn’t humour Niall, however. “I...wasn’t. Why would I be staring?”

Niall snorted and began to walk toward the door. “If you say so, Harry.”

“I don’t stare,” he muttered to himself before following after him to their car.

❧

Harry wasn’t having fun, and he had only been in the hotel room for two hours or so.

Sure, the party was fun if one were into snorting cocaine off of various appliances or if one fancied girls with smudged eyeliner or boys with dark pupils the size of their entire eye. Harry’s type of party was watching movies and stuffing his face with popcorn while he waited for his mum to come home from work. This was an alternate universe for him.

He had lost Niall thirty minutes earlier when the boy saw one of his old models and went to say hello. He found himself sitting on a soft couch cushion, constantly turning down pill offers from faceless strangers. The girl sitting next to him had a bit of white powder resting in the dip of her upper lip, and when he wiped it off for her she thanked him profusely, her brown eyes wide and dilated.

Zayn was on the other side of the girl, and he leaned over to peer at Harry. His eyes weren’t artificial like everyone else’s, but the black of his pupils and their golden rim seemed to fit his aura of natural beauty, and Harry couldn’t look away if he tried. There was a boy slung over his shoulders who pawed at him to regain his attention, and he whined but didn’t resist when Zayn slid out of his embrace. “Go clean yourself up, Becks,” he told the girl, and when she stood up, he took her spot next to Harry. He watched him for a moment, eyes assessing and head inclined. “You’re attractive,” he commented, leaning in so he could be heard over the music. It wasn’t congratulatory, the way he said it, but factual like it was only an observation – nothing more, nothing less.  

Harry blushed anyhow, but didn’t get to say anything back because the girl called Becks came stumbling back from the bathroom, the strobe lights illuminating the droplets that clung to her skin from where she splashed water on her face. She plopped down on Zayn’s lap and ran a hand through his hair as she tucked a blunt into his mouth with her free hand.

Instead of thanking her (which Harry didn’t think he would), Zayn puffed and sucked mechanically with all the essence of a king. Fitting.

Harry’s attention shifts to where a door adjacent to the couch opened, and out came a messy haired girl with red bitten lips. Liam walked out a few seconds after her, zipping up his jeans and strolling over to the couch. When Zayn saw him, he tapped Becks thigh so she would stand up, and Liam replaced her spot effortlessly. He was no longer luminous smiles as he had been a few hours ago, but downturn pouts and puppy eyes as he nestled into Zayn. His eyes were just as wide as the rest of the guests who had taken whatever drug that had been floating around earlier. “Where’s Lou? Do you know, Z?” he hiccupped.

Zayn hollowed out his cheeks before passing the joint off to someone passing by. “Nah, babe, haven’t seen him in a while.”

“We should probably go find him,” Liam slurred. His words tumbled over the other like bricks on their slow exodus from his puffy mouth.

“I’ll go find him,” Harry chirped suddenly when Liam began to rotate his hips in Zayn’s lap to the Frank Ocean song on the speakers.

Liam blinked as if he had just noticed Harry’s presence before nodding quickly. He stood up and pulled Zayn up with him. “Yes, do that. Tell him we love him,” he called over his shoulder as they disappeared into the dark light and the bodies that gyrated on the makeshift dance floor.

Feeling discombobulated at what he had just witnessed, Harry stood up from the couch and pushed his way through the strung-out bodies that were nothing more than space and illicit substances. He had no clue where to start looking for Louis – or Niall for that matter – and he couldn’t shake the feeling of being closed in, bodies pressing into him from all directions. His mouth was dry and he was sweaty and lost and could hardly breathe, and he made a beeline for the sliding doors that hopefully led to a balcony.

He closed his eyes as soon as he felt the crisp night air, and he didn’t mind the bite as it ghosted over his overheated cheeks. He began counting down from ten and was at six when –

“Are you okay?” someone asked, their voice cutting through the air, and suddenly Harry was aware of the gooseflesh that covered his bare arms and of the soft smoke that drifted into his nostrils.

Peeling his eyes open, he saw Louis sitting on the balcony rail. He was huddled inside his coat and stubbing out a cigarette, and _what was up with rock stars and drugs_?

One of Louis’ legs hung over the edge and he tapped a pack against his thigh. The colours from the party splashed onto half of his face while the shadows from the buildings and streets below illuminated the other side in pale reds and yellows.

Harry wrung out his hands. “Can I have one of those?” he asked, nodding towards the cardboard.

“Sure.” The boy brought his leg back over and hopped down. He pulled one out and walked over to where Harry had slid down to the ground and placed his head between his knees.

When he felt hands rubbing soft circles into his back, Harry let out a shaky exhale. He lifted his head slowly and smiled when Louis handed him the smoke and a lighter. It was a few moments of trembling hands, but Harry finally lit it and focused on the movements of breathing in the acridity until he calmed down. “Sorry,” he apologised, taking the cig out of his mouth.

“Don’t be. Anxiety is a bitch, innit.”

“You can say that again,” he mumbled and shivered against the cold although there was a pleasant burn in the base of his throat. “Your mates are looking for you by the way.”

Louis gave a tired chuckle, and Harry bit back a whimper when he took his hand away. “Yeah? And they sent you? No offense.”

Harry barked a surprised laugh. “None taken, I guess. I’m pretty much the only sober person left in there.”

“You and I both.” Louis shoved the cigarette pack into his coat pocket. “So…you’re Des’ son, huh?”

“Unfortunately,” Harry said, quickly dismissing that topic with a flick of his hand. He turned the conversation back to Louis’ sobriety. “So why are you out here alone? Shouldn’t you be living it up?”

“I can live it up without getting plastered or becoming a drug addict.”

Harry cocked his head because wasn’t that exactly what his band members were doing? “Well isn’t that part of the job description of ‘rock star’? Late nights, parties, and women?”

“I don’t think so? I’d rather just stick to writing and performing songs, you know?”

“That’s good. Stay pure.”

Louis snorted. “I’ll try.”

The sky was dark blue and starless, and Harry rubbed his hands over his arms. “You know,” he began when he realised that Louis hadn’t answered his question of why he was outside by himself, “just because your manager is my father and whatnot, it’s not like I’m going to snitch if you’re, like, unhappy or whatever.”

Louis’ eyebrows pulled together and his lips tilted in a bemused grin. “What do you mean?”

“Okay, bear with me because I’ve only seen this in movies, but like aren’t some people not happy once they become famous? So if that’s your situation, then – ”

Bubbling laughter cut him off, and Louis covered his mouth and apologised for his outburst, though his eyes didn’t lose their crinkles. “I don’t know what movie you’ve watched, but that’s not my situation. Thanks for the concern though, love.”

Harry huffed and scowled when Louis kept laughing. “I wasn’t concerned,” he grumbled.

“Oh no, of course not.” Louis smirked. “I’m happy with the fame and everything, by the way. I’ve always wanted to be famous. I don’t know why that doesn’t mean I can’t isolate myself sometimes, you know?”

Harry let out a low whistle. “That’s deep.”

“Shut up.”

Opening his mouth, Harry’s retort died before it could reach the tip of his tongue when he saw Louis’ face brighten like starlight and his cheeks redden with something other than January cold. He couldn’t help but stare and Louis only stared right back, eyes blue and gaze soft.

The door slid open suddenly, causing them to jump back from where they had floated closer into the space between them. “Tommo! There you are lad. Zayn told me to come find you – it’s that time of night for Liam, you know what I mean?” The blonde boy mimed moving his finger under his nose and sniffing.

Louis groaned and ran a hand over face. “Fuck,” he muttered to himself before dismissing the guy with a simple, “I’ll be there in a second.” He stood and smiled apologetically as he helped Harry up. “I should probably…”

“Yeah, of course,” Harry agreed, dusting off the back of his jeans. He flicked the remainder of his cigarette over the balcony. “I'm about to freeze to death out here anyway.”

The music had somehow gotten louder and the people had gotten clumsier when they walked back into the room. “I’ll see you around,” Louis said before disappearing to find Liam.

Harry found Niall not that much later and grabbed the key from his trousers. “You’re totally going to hate yourself in the morning,” he chided as he dragged the boy’s dead weight out of the hotel.

“We definitely have to party with those lads again,” Niall slurred as they made their way to the car.

Harry chuckled and folded him into the backseat without much fuss. “Absolutely not.”

❧

After returning the car back to Niall’s house and making sure the boy had a glass of water on his bedside table when he woke up, Harry walked the five steps back to his own house. He entered through the backdoor, so he was spooked when he walked through the kitchen and saw his mother sitting at the island.

“Hey,” she greeted and set down her wine glass. “You’re up late.”

He could say the same thing. Walking over to where she was surrounded with sketches and fabrics, Harry picked up a purple square and faked a yawn. “Yeah, I was over at Niall’s. Lost track of time.”

Anne smiled. “That’s nice. He’s a great boy.”

Harry rolled his eyes but didn’t comment.

“Good thing you are up though,” she continued, and spread her hand over a dress sketch she had been working on. “I need your opinion on this design. Think Grecian goddess meets pale princess.”

Harry scrunched his face up at the description but saw how the golds and pinks blended together in the folds of the dress. He erases the second strap and swooped it down the shoulder.

Once he finished, Anne hugged him and ruffled his hair. “You’re so brill; thank you.” She drained the rest of her wine and gathered up her supplies. “Sweet dreams, darling!” she called as she left to go to bed.

Making a quick pot of coffee, Harry took his mug and went to the basement to start painting again. He didn’t notice until rays of sunlight flittered through the windows and he was blinks away from falling asleep on his feet that he had painted an abstract version of a golden boy with city lights in his eyes.

❧

“He wants me to paint his office.”

“Who?”

Harry slid a piece of cherry gum into his mouth, rolling the aluminium wrapper between his thumb and forefinger before flicking it across the room. It landed in a jar of purple water, floating as the liquid began to trickle out. “My father,” he snapped, popping a bubble underneath his teeth.

Niall was unperturbed by his attitude, however, and a flash went off in Harry’s periphery as the boy took a photo of the tiny Christmas tree in the corner of the room. Fifteen days into the New Year and Harry wasn’t planning on taking it down anytime soon. Call it his aesthetic. Niall pulled his camera back from his face and blinked at the screen before taking another picture. “Where does he work now?”

The basement was oddly warm for a room that the central heating wasn’t supposed to reach, making Harry frown. The only reason he had moved his supplies down here was so that he didn’t have to worry about his oils overheating or his mother’s nuisance of a cat clawing at his half-finished pieces. He probably should’ve checked that he had locked all the doors before he came downstairs.

“London, I’ve heard. At one of those fancy recording studios.” Harry dotted some white into the night sky and resisted ripping up the painting as a whole. What was with high school art teachers and their mundane assignments? “You’d think the bastard would have told me seeing how that’s only two cities away, but no – I had to learn from my bleeding sister.”

“So he moved because of The Rogue? They’ve been signed for a while.”

“I can’t say that I’m surprised. He’s probably been in London for a few weeks now. Bastard.”

Niall turned his camera toward Harry and quickly snapped a picture of his pouting lip. “Well, hey,” he said, walking over to the easel and showing Harry the screen, “At least he’s closer instead of living all the way in the north. Maybe you’ll actually be able to forgive him now.”

Harry had snorted but agreed nonetheless, and that was why the following Sunday he awoke at the arse crack of dawn. He had a few things he wanted to paint on Des Styles’ wall. Forgiveness wise, of course.

“You’ll pick me up as soon as you’re done with your photo shoot right?” Harry asked, and even he could tell how whiny he was sounding. He was tired even after he had slept through the hour drive. He definitely wasn’t above cuddling over the armrest.

Niall _was_ above that, however, and pushed Harry’s head away from where it rested against his arm. “Why don’t you ask your daddy to drop you off in his helicopter, okay?” he replied, his mouth pulled up at the edges despite his flat voice.

Harry snarled at him and yet his puffy eyes and sleep-lined cheeks contradicted his threat, leaving him to appear grumpy. Like a cat. “How about I drop you off into hell?” he muttered, unbuckling his seat belt. “And stop saying ‘daddy’.”

“Oh, yeah I forgot. S’it because you want Louis to be your daddy?”

Harry choked. “I hate you and him.”

“Love you, sweet buns!” Niall shouted as Harry slammed the door shut.

❧

“You’re here for Mr. Styles aren’t you?”

Harry dropped his hand from where he was rolling his bottom lip between his two fingers, and glanced at the man standing next to his chair. He was wearing a crisp, navy suit with a lime green tie, and Harry raised an eye at the eclectic contrast of colours. “Yes. Unfortunately.”

The man smiled politely and asked for Harry to follow him. “I’m Nick, Des’ personal assistant,” he said as they entered the lift and he pressed the number fifteen.

“Harry,” he introduced, trying not to scoff at the prestige – honestly, who needed fifteen floors in a building?

“Oh? So you’re Des’ son, then?”

Furrowing his eyebrows, Harry looked at Nick. “Um–”

“Your sister sometimes stops by. Won’t stop talking about you.”

“Yeah, she does that.” Harry pressed his lips together and waited for the dial to tick up to fifteen. The first door when they exited belonged to Des, and Nick opened it without knocking. Harry stepped over the threshold and took in his surroundings. His father had obviously thought ahead for his arrival and had the walls stripped down to plaster as well as having all of the furniture covered in plastic. On the floor sat trays filled with masking tape and various rollers and brushes as well as tubs of all kinds of paint shades.

“He has a few meetings to attend, but he wanted you to get started anyhow.” Nick pulled out a small notebook from his suit pocket and flipped it open. “He says that he doesn’t want to cage your artistic vision,” – Harry snorted – “but he requests that you not paint the walls black or use spray paint.”

“Interesting regulations.” Harry rolled his eyes. He didn’t need black paint or graffiti to make a statement.

Nick chuckled. “Perhaps he doesn’t want you vandalising his office?” he offered.

Harry took a look at the white walls once more and smirked. “Perhaps.”

“If you need anything else, I’ll be around routinely. And you can stop anyone in the hallway, and they’ll help you. Good luck.”

“Won’t need it,” Harry mutters once the door shut. He takes off his coat and flings it onto one of the plastic-covered chairs before rolling up his sleeves and putting his hands on his hips. He supposed he needed to check out the paints the old man – or one of his assistants – had bought first before visualising what he wanted to paint. He never had this big of a canvas before, and though he wanted to leave a message for his father, he also wanted to create a pleasant background.

Two hours had passed, one layer of deep red coating the walls, when there was a knock on the door. Pushing his fringe out of face with red fingers, Harry lifted himself off the floor. “Oh,” he breathed once the door opened.

Louis stood there in his rock star glory of jeans and a plain white shirt, all gold skin and wide eyes, his mouth frozen around the shape of unspoken words. There was a beat where they simply stared at one another before Louis cleared his throat. “Is your father here?”

Suddenly reminded of the canvas that he set aside for his art project a couple weeks ago, Harry felt disconcerted seeing his muse again. Not that Louis was his official muse, but Harry had started noticing the greys and watery blues that had made their way into his paintings recently. He blinked out of his stupor when Louis gave him a look. “Uh…no? I think he’s in a meeting.” Everything was radio static and electricity in his head, and he could hardly recall his own name let alone what Nick had told him earlier.

“Oh.” Louis looked down the hall before directing his gaze back at Harry. “You have like,” he gestured toward Harry’s face, “red everywhere.”

“Yeah,” Harry said distractedly. It tended to happen whenever he painted. Taking a deep breath, he tried to gain composure, not sure where he had left it. “It’s paint – I’m painting. His office. Today.” Progress.

Louis bit his lip at Harry’s flustered state to keep from laughing and crossed his arms. “Can I see?”

Harry nodded and moved back so Louis could walk through the door. Blood heated up his cheeks and he ducked his head as Louis took in the room.

“He wanted red walls?” he asked while Harry walked back over to the trays and poured out orange and blue.

“No, but I wanted him to remember where he belonged.”

“Where’s that?”

Harry ran a blue line halfway down the red and brushed it in medium strokes to where the wall met the floor. “Hell.”

Louis swallowed what sounded to be a chortle and walked over to perch on the windowsill. When Harry looked over, he was bathed in light, the pale morning sun softening until he was all fuzzy and white around the edges. “You must really not like him.”

“You didn’t even know he had a son two weeks ago. And you’ve been signed for what – a month?”

“Or three,” Louis offered and pulled a pack out of his pocket. “Do you mind if I smoke in here?” he asked, already opening up the window.

Harry tugged a band off of his wrist and pulled his hair up to be out of his face. “No, go ahead.” He went back to dripping the orange sporadically over the wet blue, the colours washing together in a psychedelic manner.

Louis walked over after he finished his smoke and Harry had finished painting orange and blue on the second wall. “This is nice.”

“Thank you,” Harry said, blowing on a certain drop. “I want to burn it.” He paused when he heard how crazy that sounded. “Figuratively, of course,” he corrected.

“You don’t have to explain anything to me, babe,” Louis said, a smile hinting at his lips.

“Obviously.” Harry rolled his eyes but still wanted to articulate that he was not an arsonist, no matter how shit of a father he had. “Just wanted to make sure you knew.”

A few minutes followed where Harry was too focused on perfecting the design around the window on the third wall to speak and Louis let him focus. After Harry swooped the swirl seamlessly, he let out a breath and ran a hand down his face. He had forgotten that his hand was nothing but a palm full of orange and blue until Louis burst into laughter and wiped the paint off of his cheek.

“Oh,” Harry said, ignoring the way the boy’s hand left his skin tingling. “Thanks.” He coughed to cover up the way his voice cracked and turned his face away. He had no clue what was happening, but he needed to pull himself together. There was no need for his stomach to be dropping the way it was because a pretty boy wiped art off his face. It was kind of poetic, though, wasn’t it?

No.

He shook that thought out of his head and wiped his cheek on his shoulder. “So…was Liam okay after that night? Niall told me that he saw him body surfing.” Niall had also been recovering from a massive hangover when Harry had woken him up the next day, so his memory probably hadn't been the most reliable.

“I wouldn’t put it past him, but yeah he was all right. He does that sometimes – goes wild. And by sometimes, I mean all the time. Proper rock n roll he is.” Louis smiled but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Parties are his and Zayn’s pastime, for a lack of a better word.”

“Are they a thing?” Harry asked, walking over to the trays and kicking them over. He thought back to how the two boys had fit together naturally that night.

Louis made a face as if the thought of Liam and Zayn together was absurd – and hey, maybe it was, Harry didn’t know. “Absolutely not.”

Harry raised an eyebrow at his tone. “Are _you_ and Zayn a thing?”

“None of us are dating.”

Shrugging, Harry dipped a brush into the orange and filled in under the swoop, the three colours forming a gradient. “Could’ve fooled me.”

“Oh?” Louis said, crossing his arms. “Well, I apologise for not being in a relationship like you and Niall.”

What was up with everyone thinking that? Quickly turning around, Harry opened his mouth to set things straight, but he forgot that he had a glob on his paintbrush until there was orange splattered across Louis’ face. Harry covered his mouth and huffed out a shocked laugh. “Oh my god.”

He watched Louis nod to himself before bending down to one of the trays. Harry didn’t process what was happening even after the boy had stuck his entire hand up to his forearm in the blue paint. It did process, however, when he had to close his eyes as paint slid down his forehead and nose. Louis was smirking when he opened his eyes, and Harry couldn’t stop his own smirk from forming.

“Was that necessary?” he asked, wiping the back of his hand across his face.

Louis shrugged and flicked his fingers again. “I don’t know. Did you apologise?”

Harry spluttered as the dye hit his lips, and he bent down to get his own handful of blue. The impromptu paint war lasted seven minutes before coming to a stop when Harry yanked Louis’ wrist to dodge his attempt and ended up tripping him over one of the paint trays. They landed in a cackling, colour-splattered heap on the floor, Louis’ eyes crinkling and Harry’s smile wide.

When their laughter had faded into winded giggles, Harry bit down on his lip absentmindedly and watched Louis’ eyes fall to the action. He released his mouth from between his teeth slowly, not having anywhere to hide the rosiness of his cheeks with Louis peering down at him like that. Harry was only too aware of all the places their bodies were pressed together, and his eyesight sort of blurred around the edges as he found himself sitting up to meet Louis’ mouth.

It wasn’t a smooth kiss, their noses bumped with Harry’s lips catching on Louis’ chin, but it wasn’t a bad one either. They had just aligned themselves correctly when there was a knock on the office door. Nick poked his head in just as they were shuffling distance between themselves.

“Oh,” the man said as he took in the scene and Harry’s flushed face. “I just…came in here…to check on you…but it appears that you’ve got everything you need.”

Harry’s blush deepened, and Louis laughed, his mouth puffy and kissed red. “Hi, Grimshaw,” he greeted – and how did he not sound as breathless as Harry felt?

“Tomlinson,” Nick replied, shaking his head fondly before exiting, closing the door behind him.

Louis looked back at Harry, a grin spreading across his face. Because they hadn’t scooted that far away from one another, he reached out his arm and pulled Harry into him easily.

Harry couldn’t breathe, but it didn’t quite matter when he was moaning into Louis’ mouth as the loose curl that had fallen out of his hair tie was tugged. It took a fair amount of self-control (and a lack of lung capacity) for Harry to pull back, but he was pretty sure the door wasn’t locked, and although he might not like his dad, he didn’t want to give the old man a heart attack when he found his son and his client dry humping on his office floor. Not that they were doing that. The reasoning still stood though. “We should…get back to…I…” he panted and gestured to the walls around him.

Laughing, Louis agreed and helped Harry to stand up. Their shirts were sodden with dye, pressed into their stomachs from where they had been against the other. Harry’s limbs felt like needle pricks and the edges of stars and his mouth felt the nice kind of swollen.

By the time the last wall had been coated, the sun casted a watery afternoon shade, and Harry’s heart still thumped wildly every time his hand would brush against Louis’ or they looked up at the same time. It was wild and Harry had no clue how he hadn’t messed up the brushstrokes with his shaky hands, but miracles were real he supposed.

Wiping his hands off on the drapery from the supply pile, he stepped back and looked at his finished work. Louis stood at his side, radiating off a muted warmth. “It looks really dope, Harry,” he commented, not masking the raptivity in his voice.

Harry shrugged and pulled out a sharpie from his boot. “It could be better,” he said, walking over to the first wall. He brought the tip of his fingers to it to make sure it was dry enough before snapping the cap off the permanent marker. Humming, he left a polite note before drawing his signature lavishly. “Finished,” he declared and tossed Louis the sharpie.

Louis raised an eyebrow and walked over to the scribbled words.

_Dear Des,_

_You’re welcome you piece of shit. This doesn’t mean anything, of course. Consider it charity – not forgiveness._

_Harry._

❧

“Why do you always do this to me?” Harry whined into his phone, face planted in the carpet. It was a Friday night, and Niall was ditching him for some stupid night photo shoot where he’d take pictures of the fog or something equally as stupid and call it art. Niall was stupid.

“I literally never do this?” Niall sounded incredulous as he _should_ because the situation was ridiculous and ludicrous and other –ous words.

“You’re not supposed to leave me alone, especially not when my mum is out of town and I know where she keeps her vodka.”

Niall snickered. “That means I would never leave your side.”

“Exactly.” Harry couldn’t see what was so funny. Also, he couldn’t breathe. He lifted his head from the rug and sighed loudly. “I don’t even drink vodka.”

“Good on you! You can always come with me to a shoot, dummy.”

“Nah, it’s too cold.”

Niall laughed again because he was rude and didn’t care about Harry at all. “Okay, well why don’t you invite that one person over? You know, the one you haven’t stopped texting for two weeks and won’t tell me who they are.”

Oh. That was a possibility, wasn’t it? The only reason Harry was on the phone with Niall was because Louis had been on stage. Maybe _Harry_ was the rude one in this friendship. “You would already know who they were if you used that small brain of yours,” he said, pushing himself to his knees and shooting a text to Louis asking whether he was finished.

“You’re an arse, but I have to go now. Not that you care.”

Harry hummed noncommittally while he glanced over Louis’ response, typing back a, ‘come over? I want to paint you! x’. “I totally care.”

 _“Right,_ I’m hanging up now.”

“Love you! Drive safe!” Harry screamed, tossing his phone onto the couch as he stood up to go find his paints.

❧

“You’re gonna mess it up if you keep moving,” Harry giggled as he held onto Louis’ forearm, setting down his pallet on the floor.

“You didn’t tell me it was going to tickle,” Louis said, still trying to move away even though Harry had set down the brush.

Harry rolled his eyes but his lips tugged up at the sides. “You’re honestly a five year old.” He raised Louis’ arm to his eyesight and scooted closer so he could blow on the drying paint. Louis was a good canvas, Harry thought as he observed the artwork. It was a forest on fire, all bright yellows and oranges and warm reds.

Louis had been game from the word ‘go’, showing up on Harry’s doorstep with a lazy grin and buzzing post-gig skin.

(“You smell good,” Harry said as he pulled back from the hug.

“Thanks?” Louis said with an amused smile. “It’s sweat.”)

They had sat on the living room floor, backs pressed to the sofa while Dusty crawled over their stretched out legs. Their conversation was as easy as it had been the first time they’d met, even though in the past two weeks Louis had been performing in France and Germany. It was nice.

Harry blew one last time before reaching for his mug of black coffee. “Thanks for coming,” he said, tucking his legs underneath him and sipping. “Niall left me in the dust.”

“Yeah, you mentioned something about being abandoned,” Louis chuckled and held up his arm. He examined the small details of the burning bark and singed leaves. “I feel like I should get this tattooed. _What?”_ he asked when Harry snorted, “You don’t think I should?”

Harry shrugged. Louis could do whatever his heart desired for all Harry cared. Which he did, a lot. “It’s not like…good, though.”

When he turned his head to face Louis, he nearly choked on his coffee at his expression. Actually, he did choke on his coffee. Harry coughed into his fist as his chest lit up from the hot liquid. “Why do you look like I just told you that I killed someone?”

“You basically did!” Cradling his painted arm to his chest defensively, Louis shook his head solemnly. “This is honestly the best painting I have ever seen and you’re saying it’s not even _good.”_

Harry felt his cheeks flush at how passionate the other boy appeared. “Um…well, thanks? For thinking it’s nice or w-whatever,” he stammered.

Louis let out a jovial laugh with his head tossed back – and how could someone look so sun-kissed in January? The colours complimented his skin well, blending so that he appeared to be burning from the inside out. Like he was made of natural disasters. He was so beautiful. “Who cares what I think? You painted it. Do you like it?”

“On you, yes.” And, wait. That wasn’t supposed to be said out loud.

Louis laughed anyway, though it was softer and prettier and Harry felt on fire himself.

❧

Louis had invited Harry to his in-house studio once or twice since they had gotten together two weeks prior, but it was only until today that Harry had a break between his paintings and school work to come visit. The first thing he noticed was that it was very bright and that fact alone instantly made him feel at ease. It was all pale yellow walls and polished wooden floors and had different coloured bean bags scattered throughout the room. It was lovely.

“Harry, here, can paint - quite pleasantly, I might add,” Louis said to Liam, as he scribbled down something in his book. His glasses were perched on the bridge of his nose, his eyebrows knitted together as he tapped the butt of his pen against his bottom lip. The compliment was stated with so much nonchalance that Harry didn’t know whether to say ‘thanks’ or to act like it was no big deal. He chose the latter however, biting the inside of his lip to tamper down his grin.

He watched Liam’s eyes light up at Louis’ words – or perhaps it was the way the sun was hitting his face. “A proper artist, huh?” Liam teased while keeping his smile displayed toward Harry. “You should put some of your artwork up on our walls, then.”

Zayn and Louis snorted collectively while Harry watched Liam’s expression – open as ever – to make sure he was kidding. He was kidding, wasn’t he?

Before he could ask though, Zayn stretched languidly on the couch, his feet hovering above Liam’s lap before he dropped them dramatically. Liam grunted but didn’t actually protest, instead resting his hands on the boy’s calves while Zayn pulled the cigarette from where it rested behind his ear. “Are we recording today, or…?” he asked, tone underlain with impatience, and handed his lighter to Liam, who flicked it on. Zayn sucked three times before blowing the smoke in the air and offered Liam his thanks with a tilt of the lips.

Louis glanced up from his words before returning to them immediately, the melody vibrating on his tongue in a hum for a few seconds before he sighed and stood up, body twisting as he cracked his back, sweatpants sliding down slightly to show a sliver of stomach. He wiped at his eyes while he folded the stems of his glasses and flung them haphazardly onto his beanbag.

The other two lads followed suit, standing up from the couch and shaking out their limbs. Zayn sucked one more time before stubbing out the cigarette, and Liam began drumming in the air with the sticks he pulled out while Harry was in the middle of a blink.

Harry was busy watching the two start messing with the speakers and soundboard technology when Louis kicked at his beanbag with socked feet. “You staying?” he asked, eyes glimmering blue.

“Uh,” Harry began, pulling out his phone to check the time. He had to be home in an hour so he could put the finishing touches on one of his art pieces, and Louis had already informed him that sessions tended to last for three hours, but this was his first time hearing them record, and Harry didn’t actually care about his grades anymore to be quite frank. “I can stay if you’d like.”

Louis’ eyebrows raised in surprise. “You don’t have to be home soon? Don’t you have school tomorrow?”

Indeed. Harry shrugged. “I want to hear your new music, you know, without the crowds as background noise.”

“Ah,” Louis nodded, looking up at the other boys briefly before settling his gaze back on Harry, who had to squint against the sunlit room to see him chewing on his bottom lip pensively.

“What?”

“You sure you want to stay? Like, I don’t know when your dad might come through because he usually does...”

Harry shrugged again and flicked his hair out of his face. “I don’t care. I’m here for you, aren’t I?”

Louis grinned and held out a hand to help Harry stand. “I guess you are, love.”

○ February ○

“You’re crushing something crazy on the guy, and you have only seen him once since the whole office painting ordeal.”

Harry looked up from where he was stretched out on his stomach on the floor, swimming in a sea of text and term papers, and he stopped tapping his pencil eraser against his jaw to glare at his “best friend”. Who, may he remind, had been begging for information for a month about Louis and was now being very unsupportive, unlike how a real best friend would be. Harry had half a nerve to kick him out.

His glare was unappreciated (like his friendship) however, because Niall was too busy spinning around in Harry’s computer chair, maths textbook long-abandoned on the desk. Niall had never been the greatest study buddy, but it was like he wasn’t even trying anymore. Now that they were in their last semester and were already accepted into their university, he had zero motivation for homework. Harry was pretty certain Niall had only agreed to come over so he could finally corner him into giving details about what happened the infamous Sunday that left Harry with stars in his eyes for weeks afterwards. Harry had been used once again by Niall Horan. He was not happy about it.

Kicking sheets of paper to the side, Harry sat up and crossed his arms, mouth rearranging into a pout. “I've seen him twice,  _actually_ , and why are you making it sound so bad? It’s only been a few weeks, not to mention he’s busy—”

“‘Doing band things’, yes you’ve said that. Isn’t that the point though, Styles—?”

“Don’t call me ‘Styles’,” Harry muttered, but Niall simply spoke over his protest.

“—he’s a busy guy. You think he’ll have time for you?”

Harry’s lip jutted out even more as he dropped his gaze to one of his open textbooks. The first paragraph he saw was something involving old English. It reminded him of the Shakespearean essay due Friday. “It’s not like I necessitate that much attention.”

Niall rolled his eyes, which must have made him sick because he stopped spinning the chair. “Necessitate – what, did you swallow a dictionary?” He dodged the eraser Harry lobbed at his head. “I’m just saying, you don’t really cope well with being neglected. I can barely go out for a smoke break without having you trailing along two minutes later like a puppy.”

“You don’t smoke, Niall.”

“Yeah, well. The point still stands all the same.”

Harry pushed his hair out of his face and bit at the skin on the side of his thumb. He continued glaring at Niall because the boy had no clue what he was talking about, and Niall continued staring back at him, unaffected. Clearly, no one was going to win this contest, so Harry closed his eyes and laid back on the ground, the wood cold and papers crunched underneath his head. “But he’s hot, right – Louis is?”

He heard a sigh that was more resigned than anything, and he knew that Niall wasn’t going to answer, but he had asked anyway. The chair squeaked, and then there were footsteps pattering closer until Niall had lowered himself beside him on the floor. He didn’t lie down though, and his elbow lingered awfully close to Harry’s jaw. “Mate.”

“Yes?”

“He makes good music, that’s for sure.”

Harry felt a smile pulling across his cheeks and he opened one of his eyes to look at Niall. “Yeah, but he’s extremely attractive as well, right?” Niall turned his head so Harry poked him in the stomach for him to turn back. “Right?” he pressed.

“Why do you do this to me? Literally what crime have I committed that results in me being your best friend?”

Harry shut his eye again and rolled both of them behind his eyelids. “It’s a simple question, Ni; I’m not asking you to be an accomplice in a bank robbery.”

“I’m really not feeling these big words, but okay. I admit that he is attractive. Aesthetically. And for you, anyway.”

Ignoring the last remark, Harry pressed the heels of his hands into his lids and groaned. “What if – fuck – what if I creep him out? You know how shit of a personality I have.”

“Your personality is quite shit. I’m _kidding,”_ Niall tagged on when his rib was abused by Harry’s flying limb. “You’re not gonna scare the kid away. I mean, I’m still here aren’t I? And I’m probably one thousand times cooler than he is.”

“Okay, first off: you can’t call Louis a kid because he is definitely older than the both of us. Second: fuck you, you are definitely not cooler than him.”

Niall laughed, one that had his head tossing back, and Harry opened his eyes just in time to have an elbow in the face. Great.

❧

“H, I’m _so_ sorry,” Niall apologised for the twelfth time in five minutes, except that it didn’t _count_ because he was attempting to hold back his laughter, and if it didn’t hurt like _actual shit_ , Harry would most definitely be glaring. Alas, his left eye could hardly blink, let alone do anything else, so he resorted to kicking out his leg at Niall’s shin from where he was perched on the bathroom sink.

He lowered the ice pack and twisted his body so that he could see the mirror, which – yikes – might not have been the best idea. He looked like he had gotten hit in the face with a bat, or, like, a lorry. He quickly placed the pack back on his eye, and gave his reflection one last scan before turning around and frowning. “We’re not friends anymore.”

Coughing to cover up his chuckles, because he was an arse, Niall shook his head and leaned against the door. “You’re overreacting. Do you think your mum will be mad?”

“Have you met Anne, Niall?”

“No shit, have you? She nearly killed you for that love bite last year, so I’m pretty sure she’ll kill you for having a black eye on a weekday. Speaking of which, do you think the teachers will let you wear sunglasses for the rest of the week?”

Harry removed the ice once more and stared at it while huffing. Niall was right about the first bit; Harry remembered when he came home late, neck positively marked, and he had never seen his mum so livid. She made sure to make his life a living hell for three months. Three entire months. But that was before Anne had received her last promotion and actually was home for more than an hour, so Harry wasn’t too worried.

Regardless, he still had a black eye and no way to explain it. His only hope was that Anne came home after he went to bed and that she’d be in her study when he had to get ready in the morning. Shouldn’t be that hard. “Your elbows are fucking lethal, Niall, what the fuck.”

Niall laughed again, and moved in for a hug but Harry put up a hand to his chest. “Don’t be like that, Styles. Remember when we were eight and you tripped me over the crack in the pavement on our way to school? My whole body was scrapped up, ya wanker.”

Harry winced as he tried to roll his eyes and punched Niall in the arm, which left him open for a hug. He squeaked but didn’t push away, just muttered a ‘dramatic’ while sinking into the embrace.

❧

“You have a black eye.”

It wasn’t the first time Harry had heard that in the past week – nor was it the fifteenth. He had been wearing sunglasses for the past six days, but he figured since the bruise was fading he could get away with not wearing them. Apparently not.

“Really? I hadn’t noticed.” He smiled at Louis innocently, cheeks dimpling, and walked into the flat. He hadn’t been over when the other two boys weren't there before, and it wasn’t as strange as he thought it would be. There wasn’t the constant thrumming of a bass line, or an ever-present cloud of smoke, and as he turned back around to tell Louis such, he paused when he saw his expression. “What?”

“Why do you have a black eye?” Louis asked, voice hard, and was it just Harry or was there an actual murderous glint?

Harry was equally stunned and enamoured at the boy’s intensity and that he was cared about so much. He didn’t think Louis would appreciate him cooing and pinching his cheeks though. “Uh, it’s not what it seems like,” he stammered, not knowing what it seemed like at all. He honestly thought it wasn’t noticeable anymore. “It was an accident.”

Not the right explanation, Harry sensed when it proved to only upset Louis more.

“No, okay, that came out wrong. No one hit me purposely; like Niall and I were fucking around and his elbow jabbed me in the eye because he’s an absolute idiot.”

A brief moment followed where Louis looked as if he were deciding whether to believe Harry or not, before he let out a long sigh, his body only relaxing minimally. Absolutely endearing. “What the fuck, Haz.”

“I’m sorry!” It really was a testament of his strength that Harry didn’t morph into a preening kitten due to the fact that he was the reason Louis had looked positively homicidal when he thought someone had lain a hand on his boy. Harry was bursting into a million fireworks on the inside, but on the outside only his mouth twitched.

Louis shook his head and finally closed the door. “It’s not funny.”

“I’m not laughing!” His mouth twitched more.

“Yeah, okay.”

Harry finally broke into a smile and wrapped his arms around Louis’ still high-strung frame. “You’d totally start a war over me.”

A snort came from Louis in response but most of the tension diminished as Harry pressed kisses to both his cheeks and to his forehead.

“I’m honoured, really. It’s nice to know that someone will fight for me.” He was only slightly joking, but Louis didn’t need to know that. “Maybe next time Niall will watch his limbs if he knew the Tommo would come for his arse with pitchforks and torches.”

“Oh, hush. S’not my fault you two really are idiots,” Louis griped, but he ducked his face as his cheeks reddened at the teasing. He noticed the package in Harry’s hands then. “What’s that?”

Harry jostled the small bag of pastries and held it behind his back. “Presents.”

Louis lifted an eyebrow. “For me?”

Taking a step back, Harry shrugged and smirked. “I’ll guess you have to find out, huh?” And thus the race to the bedroom began.

❧

“I mean,” Harry ripped off a piece of the doughnut and popped it into his mouth, “I always wanted to be an artist, you know? Ever since I was young and my mum gave me my first watercolour set. I didn’t think I was good at it for a long time, because it was mostly just random strokes and patterns, but my sister always gushed over the paintings, and then my classmates started to, so. It’s always been me and a blank canvas and a desire to fill it up with as much emotion as possible.”

When he looked up, Louis was already staring at him, teeth tugging at his bottom lip and doughnut abandoned on the adjacent brown paper bag. Harry fidgeted under his gaze, stopping mid-chew because ugh, did he come off as bizarre again? “What?” he asked, his hand covering his mouth.

Louis just shook his head slowly, eyes crinkling in a way that was affiliated with unreleased laughter. “Your eyes get this sort of”—he moved his hands in a wild gesture—“fire when you talk about things that make you happy. It’s refreshing to see. And a bit hot.”

Harry normally didn’t blush when cute guys gave cute compliments; however, if he just so happened to be blushing in that moment, he was extremely grateful that it was dark in the room – in Louis’ room. Louis who just called something involving Harry ‘hot’. He swallowed his bite and positioned his body so that he was facing Louis fully, legs pulled up under him and hands pressed to his thighs. He watched Louis watch him, and he felt the sort of brave that one feels when the sun goes down. (Not brave enough to make the first move, of course, but brave enough to admit that he wouldn’t mind _Louis_ making the first move.) “Thanks,” he whispered, heart nothing more than a quick, soft drum in his chest.

“No problem.” Louis smiled and reached out for Harry’s wrist. He drew him closer and Harry went effortlessly, slipping into the kiss when Louis finally attached their lips. It was easier to fall together than the first time, less rushed, yet the feeling in Harry’s stomach – a dull, fiery ache – had Harry pressing closer just for Louis to feel the wildfire that he was causing.

Pulling away turned out to be the hardest thing imaginable, but there happened to be that annoying moment when there’s not enough oxygen being transmitted and a break for breath was crucial. Luckily, Louis was the type of guy that immediately latched onto one’s neck, sucking bruises into the skin that Harry would gladly obsess over in the morning. Placing his hands on Louis’ thighs, he tried to sort through the thoughts in his mind, which felt as if one million cotton balls had been shoved into every corner and inch. He adored this type of insanity. “Hey, Lou?”

Louis bit down gently on the skin right below Harry’s jaw and licked it even softer, which had Harry grabbing at his jeans and stretching his neck for more. “Yes?” The word was formed against Harry’s skin, setting his veins ablaze.

Harry pulled Louis’ face back to his, sucked his lip in between his own. Their mouths were nothing but the twist of each other’s tongues attempting to taste as much as they could of one another. (Louis tasted like homemade chocolate and dough and a hint of afternoon smoke. Harry wanted that taste carved onto his taste buds. Or, to be more practical, he wanted to be able to taste it every second of every hour of every day.) “Do you think,” he whispered into Louis’ laugh lines; mumbled into the morning scruff that was beginning to grow, “that my eyes get the same look of fire when I’m talking about you?”

There was a pause where Louis sat back to look at Harry’s face, eyes blown but searching. He ran a finger along Harry’s mouth and grinned when those lips parted easily. He ducked in quick, mouths melding together so naturally that their sole purpose must have been to be pressed against one another. He moved back again and giggled when Harry followed after blindly. “Haz.” He ran a hand down his face and let out a groan from the back of his throat. “You’re gonna drive me crazy for sure.”

Harry smiled and pressed a quick kiss to Louis’ cheek. “I’m okay with that.”

“Yeah,” Louis said, tugged at Harry’s wrist and laid down so that their chests were flush together. “So am I.”

❧

“You do realise it’s night time, right?” Louis questioned, his hands tucked into his pockets as he watched Harry shuffle snow off the bottom of a slide.

The park was illuminated with the yellow light of several street lamps, and it reflected off the inches of slush that still blanketed the stone paths and dead grass. It was freezing, the wind whipping harshly against exposed skin, but Harry wanted to get out of the house, so he did. Louis hadn’t initially been a part of the plan, but Harry figured the boy needed a break from the fame and the fortune anyway.

(Louis was still laughing at that excuse when he’d pulled up in the driveway. Harry made them walk because he didn’t find it very funny.)

“Really? I thought it was weird that the sun wasn’t out,” Harry deadpanned. He wondered why so many slides were painted yellow as he sat down, the wet plastic soaking through his pyjama trousers.

Louis continued standing up, mainly because there was hardly enough room for Harry’s small bum let alone his own, and kicked snow onto Harry’s shoes. “Rough night?” he asked, voice softer but not prying, more casual than concerned. It warmed Harry where the cold was nipping at his skin, where he felt dull sparks of stars in his fingertips.

He kicked snow back and wondered if Louis had even bothered putting on socks and whether he were immune to pneumonia or cold weather in general. “Anne has a boyfriend,” Harry mumbled, the words sliding from his mouth in faint gusts, ascending to fuck knows where. “That’s why she’s been out later than usual.” He felt himself frown as if he were some spoiled child, as if he saw his mother any time other than an occasional Sunday morning when she’d give herself a day off just to later board a plane to some exotic location.

As if this wasn’t his life since he was seven.

The thing was, Harry was okay with Anne not always being around because, until tonight, that meant that she was immersing herself in a career that she loved. And sure, that meant he practically had to raise himself – but he was used to it. But when he found out that her promotion had in fact shortened her hours considerably, and that her neglect was because she was busy gallivanting the country – the _world_ – with her new beau, it just didn’t sit well with him. He was okay with coming second to a job, but to a person…

He just didn’t expect to see his mother home on a weeknight, skin glowing and hair flattened, wearing a simple black dress and smiling when she told him she was going on a date. He didn’t expect for a man to appear on their porch, proper dapper looking, or to witness the way the man looked at his mother. Like she was his world. He didn’t expect for his mother to look at the guy – Robin – the exact same way. He wasn’t expecting not to reciprocate his mum’s obvious happiness.

When he looked up, it was to questioning blue eyes but a closed mouth. Harry hated it; hated not knowing what story the boy was piecing together about him, but his mouth didn’t open either. “I’m not, like, mad,” Harry finally whispered, dropping his gaze.

Louis hummed and his hand fiddled with the pack in his pocket. “You’re just upset?”

“I just feel a bit…” Harry’s hands fluttered around him before settling against his thighs. He had black paint underneath his nails and dotted across his palms and it all looked very poetic. “Insignificant,” he finished. Maybe he expected his voice to be tinged with bitterness, but all he heard was a sort of emptiness. A loneliness? He looked up at the boy whose eyes were brimmed with concern, and no – he wasn’t lonely.

“Haz—” Louis began but stopped himself when Harry shook his head. There was a pause, then there was Louis plopping into Harry’s lap, back to front. His coat smelled of nicotine and late winter and he stared out at the deserted park—the snow covered climbing frame and swing sets. “Can I tell you a secret?” he asked, and his voice wasn’t soft any longer; didn’t get lost amongst the wintry air. He turned his neck to gauge Harry’s reaction. Their faces were significantly close in proximity, puffs of frozen air coasting over each other’s lips. He blinked away after a moment, though Harry could swear he saw him chewing back a smile.

“Go for it.”

Louis cleared his throat and leaned in closer to Harry’s chest when a gust of cold air swept through the park. “I’m a bit anxious about, like, the band’s sudden success. Don’t get me wrong, your dad is an excellent manager”—he laughed when he turned to see Harry rolling his eyes—“but it’s all still…”

“Too much?” Harry supplied smugly.

“New,” Louis answered with a small smirk. “I’m telling you, Styles, I haven’t been famous long enough for you to be betting on when my breakdown is going to happen.”

Harry snorted and tucked his hands underneath Louis’ coat, causing the boy to jump at the unexpected chill. “I give you six months,” he said.

“Piss off. I’ll at least last a year.”

“Sure,” Harry hummed, his fingers immediately warming against Louis’ skin. (No one could convince him that the boy wasn’t harbouring sunbeams somewhere in his chest.) The fact that he looked more golden than usual with the whites and yellows surrounding them was what made Harry stash away the image for when he was back home in his studio. He didn’t think he had the right shades of latte or honey, but he could work something out.

Louis rested the back of his head on Harry’s shoulder and yawned with his whole body. “I can’t believe you dragged me out in this blizzard, Haz.”

“Don’t call me that,” he griped half-heartedly, tracing his hands around the taut tummy. “And it’s hardly snowing.”

“Whatever you say.” Louis crossed his ankles and placed his hands on top of Harry’s. “Haz.”

They remained that way, curved around each other with the snowflakes falling around them. Having Louis as a physical anchor calmed Harry in ways that he didn’t know he needed but couldn’t deny that he definitely did need. “Lou?” he asked, nuzzling his cold nose into his nape. When Louis responded with a hum, Harry sucked in a deep breath and held the stinging air in his lungs. “I think I want to be your boyfriend.”

Louis twisted around with a raised eyebrow and an amused grin. “You _think?_ What is that–?”

Harry dove forward and kissed the sarcasm out of his mouth, placing his frigid hands on either side of Louis’ numb face. He pulled back and smiled at the boy’s surprised look. “I’m one hundred percent certain that I want to be in an official relationship with you. Exclusive. Monogamous. Yours.”

“Mine?” Louis asked, and the way the word sounded so gentle on his tongue like it was wrapped in pale pink to match the winter blush on their cheeks, confirmed that it was all Harry could possibly want.

“Yours,” he nodded.

Louis’ face brightened as he huffed out small giggles and kissed him soft and slowly. “I’ll be yours, too. I guess,” he tacked on before leaning in to deepen the kiss, quickly changing Harry into a whimpering mess.

❧

When Harry woke up in his bed a few hours later, he blinked against the pale sun that filtered in through his curtains. The light washed his room in muted slants and caught on the floating dust spots, making them iridescent. It reminded him of stardust, of the history of suns, and he supposed that was what the boy asleep on his shoulder had been created out of. The history of suns.

 


	2. March - May

○ March ○

“Hey, Harry!”

Looking up from his phone, Harry saw a group of girls by the fence, all bright smiles and prim uniforms. He recognised one of them – Jade, he was sure her name was – as she approached him.

“How are you?” she asked, her voice as sweet as the spritz that clung onto her.

Harry tried not to let his scepticism show as he plastered on a cheery grin. He was certain that this was the first time she had spoken to him in their four years of attending the same school. “All right, and you?”

Jade gave a little shrug. “Likewise. Rumour has it, that you’re dating The Rogue’s lead singer, Louis.” She didn’t look for a confirmation before continuing. “That must mean you can hook me and the girls up with tickets to one of their London shows, right?”

He glanced behind her at the three other girls, who all waved. “Um…”

“Great! Thanks, doll. Give us a ring!” she chirped, pressing a slip of paper into his palm before sauntering back over to her giggling girl gang.

As he arrived at the carpark, Niall was sitting on the hood of his car, talking about what Harry supposed was a potential shoot with potential models by the way they were staring so intently.

Niall shooed them away once he spotted Harry, and their school mates walked past him with raised eyebrows and jabs to the rib. The boy slid off the car and pulled Harry into a hug. “How was your day?” he asked, unlocking the doors.

Harry slid the piece of paper into his back pocket. As _if_ he would be some sort of ticket dispenser.  “Weird. Like all these random people kept coming up to me in all of my classes asking about Louis. Even that one girl, Jade – ”

Niall started the car. “Jade who?”

“Um…long, curly hair. Sort of has the eyes of a Disney character…”

“Hangs with Perrie, Leigh, and Jesy?” And leave it to Niall to be on a first-name basis with the entire school. Inspirational.

“Sure.” Harry didn’t know.

Niall whistled and patted him on the shoulder. “Look at you, Styles. Chumming it up with Miss Popular herself.”

“Not really. She gave me her number so that I can give her free tickets to the boys’ shows. Like what kind of shit…?” he trailed off, the pieces suddenly fitting together. “You didn’t!”

Biting back his grin, Niall kept his eyes on the road while Harry thumped him. “Okay, _ow!”_

“You totally told everyone about me and Lou, you arsehole!”

“Technically, I only told, like, five people max in my first class. Also, I would like to point out that you didn’t tell me _not_ to tell anyone.”

“You’re horrible.” Harry shook his head and propped his feet on the dashboard. “Is that why all of those people were at the car when I came? And why they were giving me those looks?” He groaned. “You’re not my friend anymore.”

“I’m always your friend, H, shut up.”

Even if that was the truest thing Niall had ever said, Harry flipped him off and ignored him for the rest of the ride home.

❧

“Baby bro!”

Harry froze from where he was sipping on his coffee, the liquid scorching on its way down his throat, and he winced at the burning in his lungs. Turning around, he saw his older sister entering the kitchen. She wore a mustard mink jacket over matching shorts and halter top, and although a bit much for Harry’s taste, it matched her loud personality amazingly enough.

Her driver carried in her luggage with a blank expression while Gemma sauntered over to grab Harry into a hug. The fur tickled his chin and he pulled back to scratch his face.

“I didn’t know you were flying in?” he said, tilting the sentence into a question with a raised eyebrow. Not that he had expected her to give him a heads up – spontaneous decisions had always been her style.

“Surprise?” She offered with a sheepish smile before telling her driver to wait outside. “Where’s our beautiful muva?” Reaching for Harry’s mug, she wrinkled her nose when she caught a whiff. “God, H, I leave for New York and you go Paris on me. Black coffee, really?”

“Tres chic?” Harry giggled and moved to turn on the kettle while Gemma pulled out one of the island stools. “Mum is asleep, I think. She had a date – ”

“With Robin?” Gemma perked up, extended lashes guarding her green eyes.

“Um…yes?” he said, perplexed but not exactly shocked that she wasn’t out of the loop. At least one of them kept up with their parents’ lives.

His sister sighed and rested her chin in her palm. “They’re so cute. They _are,_ ” she insisted when Harry rolled his eyes as he passed her a teacup.

Dusty pattered into the kitchen while Gemma talked about finishing her fashion degree finally, not long followed by Queen Anne herself in all her pyjama glory. “I thought I heard my daughter’s voice,” she said in lieu of greeting, tying the belt of her robe and kissing Gemma on the top of her head. “Thought you said your plane was landing last night? You look fabulous by the way, love.”

Gemma preened at the compliment, however nonchalant, and smooth down the front of her fur. “Thanks, mummy. I actually did land last night. Didn’t want to wake you two, though, so I stayed in London until this morning.” She fixed Harry with a look that he wasn’t sure how to decipher, so he went back to adding chamomile to Anne’s cuppa.

His mother didn’t bat an eye when he handed it over, and instead began inquiring Gemma about her new home in Harlem. Harry wasn’t exactly invested, seeing how it was still early. He grimaced as he glanced at the stovetop to see that it was noon.

“Mum,” he said, cradling the cat to his chest. “Don’t you have that meeting with Alexander in a bit?”

The look on Anne’s face was confirmation enough. “Shoot. Thanks, darling,” she said, patting his arm and excusing herself.

Gemma laughed gleefully at her haste and shook her head at Harry. “Nice to see that you’re still her personal assistant. You should get paid.”

His closet was enough payment, actually. He scratched behind Dusty’s ears and handed him over when Gemma held out her arms. “Who’s in London?” he asked, still confused about why she had shot him that look.

She hummed noncommittally, however, and waved a hand to dismiss the question. “No matter. I am taking you to lunch, though. So…” she gave him a once-over, “you should change.”

Harry glanced down at his pyjamas. “Are you too urban for Superman?”

“Yes,” Gemma deadpanned.

“Ok, mum.”

“Middle name’s not ‘Anne’ for no reason, Harold,” she quipped, sticking out her tongue.

❧

“You need to visit Harlem soon – it’d be good for your artsy stamina,” Gemma was saying as they sat outside a nice restaurant.

Harry snorted into his green smoothie that tasted a lot like grass if he were being honest. The sun was out and providing actual heat for once, and shopping bags rested at their feet because his sister was a shopaholic apparently. (Honestly, who needed three fedoras? Harry, maybe, but that wasn’t the point.) Gemma’s mink now hung on the back of her seat, and the sun lit up the fur in numerous fireshades. “I’m one hundred percent certain that you made up ‘artsy stamina’.”

Gemma shrugged, taking a bite of her food. “You can’t prove that. Seriously though, you should visit. In fact – ” she said when Harry only blew bubbles into his drink as a response, “ – you can visit when your boyfriend tours America later this year.”

Harry paused in his bubble blowing to stare wide eyed. “My…what?”

Looking up from her plate, Gemma drew her eyebrows together at Harry’s expression before smirking. “Oh, piss off – _really?_ Who do you think I went to see while I was in London for over six hours? Big up to you, bub; didn’t know you had started talking to Dad again.”

Harry made a face and twisted one of the bracelets on his wrist. He didn’t talk to him if he could help it. “So…he told you?”

“Nah,” Gemma said, wiping at her mouth with her napkin. “I mean, yes, he sort of mentioned it, but I’m not daft. Not that hard to piece together, honestly. Lou’s a good one, way better than those other two dorks. Would’ve been a bit tragic if you fell for Zayn, yeah?”

Everything was happening too fast for Harry to even think about trying to understand what she meant by that. He ran a finger around the edge of his glass and chewed on his lip. “Sorry I didn’t tell you earlier.”

Shrugging, Gemma took out her phone and snapped a photo of the statue in the middle of their table. “No need to apologise. I don’t care who you date – a rock star, a model, Niall – ” she giggled when Harry shot her a look. “I’m kidding! You’re always so touchy about that lad. Regardless, I just care that you’re safe, little bro. Which means wearing condoms all the time – speaking of…”

When she reached into her purse, Harry shrieked, stretching over the table to still her arm. “Please do not take out what I think you’re about to take out.”

Gemma rolled her eyes but dropped her hand back into the bag. “Whatever. Just make sure you two always have some around, all right?”

 _“Okay,_ Gem,” he mumbled, his blush disguised by the cast of green from his drink.

❧

Spring was beginning, and Harry was in a relationship that – unfortunately – caused him to be in his father’s presence more than he actually enjoyed. For example, earlier today he had been sleeping – rather peacefully – in Louis’ bed when he was woken by a screeching alarm clock. Louis had apologised profusely before declaring that he had a meeting at the label and that Harry was invited to come with. Of course that happened to be the last thing Harry wanted to do, right under being around Zayn without reason or cigarettes, but he also didn’t want to be in someone else’s house by himself – especially when there weren’t any art supplies lying around to distract him. So he acquiesced – albeit with a scowl – hence the reason why he was currently knocking on the door of his father’s office. Because The Rogue’s meeting was ‘exclusive’ and on the top floor, he had ninety minutes to spare.

“Harry! What can I do for you, my boy?” Des said when he looked up from his pile of papers thirty seconds after Harry had walked in. He took off his glasses, his salt and pepper hair carefully styled away from his face. Casual elegance.

There was a bookshelf placed where the note was scribbled, and Harry bit back his grin. He hadn’t been back here in weeks, not that he had a reason to, but he couldn’t help wondering what his father’s expression was when he saw it.

“Hey, Dad, just passing through. See you’re a fan of books.” He nodded toward the shelf.

Des smiled easily, not sparing a glance beside him, and offered Harry to have a seat. “Lou have a meeting?”

It made logical sense that Harry wasn’t the only one who used the nickname, but that didn’t stop his brows from drawing and the sides of his mouth to dip. “Yes, _Louis_ does,” he corrected as he sat in one of the red leather chairs. The colour was a wine, and a bit tacky in Harry’s opinion, especially with the gold buttons decorating the exterior of the arm. It didn’t go with the walls at all, and he wondered if his father would object to him painting his furniture. There was a good chance that it wouldn’t guarantee him a spot in the ‘son of the year’ category.

An awkward moment passed where Des continued to smile at Harry, trying to appear open for a conversation, and Harry looked everywhere but at Des’ creepy dad smile. He was looking at a patch of dried paint on his jeans when there was a knock on the door.

He turned around to see a woman with caramel skin and long hair standing in the threshold. She couldn’t have been much older than Harry, maybe mid-twenties, and was wearing pink stilettos. Her lips curled into a berry smile when she saw Harry before spreading into one of diamonds when her gaze floated over to Des. “Good afternoon, Mr. Styles. I have the paperwork from Marketing and Sales for you.”

Des stood up from his seat and smiled unabashedly at the woman. His dimple was even making an appearance. “Lovely work, darling.” He walked over to her and took the folder out of her hands. He set a gentle hand on her elbow and brought her into the room, motioning at Harry. “Lydia, this is my son, Harry. Harry, this is Lyd. She’s my personal assistant.”

Lydia waved at him, and though he wanted to roll his eyes and turn away – personal assistant his _arse_ – he gave her a tight lipped smile. Unlike _some_ people, he would not be flashing his dimples. “Nice to meet you.”

He watched with narrowed eyes as his father leaned in close to the woman to whisper, and how she giggled in response before swatting his chest and turning on her heel. To be quite honest, the dynamic was gross to look at seeing how Lydia looked about twenty five and his father was definitely in his fourth decade.

Once Des had shut the door, Harry cleared his throat and went back to scraping off the permanent ink. “Do you call all your other secretaries shorter versions of their names?”

Des sat back down at his desk and slid the folder underneath his accumulating heap. “That’s none of your business, Harry.”

“Oh? Then what is my business?”

“Your business is to stay in a child’s place.” Des clasped his hands in front of him. “Now what can I do for you today?”

Harry scoffed at the deflection and folded his arms over his chest. “You know that she’s – what – four years Gemma's senior? You remember Gem, don’t you? Your daughter?”

“I’m aware of who my children are—”

“Really? You know who I am? Who would’ve thought.”

Des watched him for a moment before nodding to himself and pulling out one of his drawers. “All right, I get it. You’re still upset about everything. How about,” he drew out a black card and jotted something down, “we have lunch one afternoon and talk about it.”

Harry took the card when he handed it over. In the margins appeared to be an address.

“Best Thai place in this city. I know how much you love Thai food.”

Yeah, when he was seven. “You do realise that I don’t actually live in London yet, right? I can’t just have lunch with you whenever your schedule allows it.” He glanced at the paper again. “What are these numbers?”

The man flexed his fingers. “My office phone number.”

Harry laughed in disbelief. “What?” He crumpled the card and flicked it. It bounced off the bookcase. “I’m not even good enough for a mobile number?”

“Son—”

Harry held his hands up. “Whoa, do not call me that. Ever.”

Des gaped at him with a look of shock and he slowly shook his head. “Harry,” he spoke slowly, “you are my son.”

As if. The fact that this man was speaking to him as if he were some little kid was what caused him to shoot out of his chair like a bolt, lightning running through his veins. “I can’t fucking do this. I can’t have you pretend that I’m still your child – like you didn’t leave, because you _did._ You left, okay? Even before the divorce you weren’t there for your kids when we needed you, and then because of a court decision you weren’t there for me at all! Ten fucking years you weren’t in my life – ten _fucking_ years, and you suddenly pop up out of the blue and expect me to be the same seven year old boy who cried when you said you were leaving? Well, fuck you – and you can rip that image out of your bleeding memory because the boy who viewed his father as a king died the same year you forgot you had a son.”

Despite his steel grey eyes and set jaw, Des’ demeanour remained relaxed as if Harry hadn’t said a word. It only helped to add fuel to Harry’s barely contained fire. “I didn’t forget—” he began, but Harry wasn’t hearing it.

“What do you reckon, then – you bumped your head and didn’t remember ever having a son in the first place? I’m giving you the benefit of the doubt because if you did remember, why didn’t you show your face? Why did I have to hear of your accomplishments from my sister or any other family member when they visited for holidays, but never from you? You couldn’t have visited your son _once_ for Christmas?”

“I tried—”

“Like hell you did! You honestly tried for ten years straight? Where are the results of your efforts? A fatherless child with a neglectful mother?”

That apparently caused a rise out of the man. He pushed out of his chair to stand up, all Titan powered and Harry could see why he was one of the most respected men of the industry. Still, it wasn’t enough to stop Harry from wanting to spit at his existence. Des’ voice thundered around the room, “Don’t you dare place the actions of your mother on me!”

Harry snorted. “No, actually I will do just that, because Anne was a good mother before you made her feel worthless! Not only did you take the house and the marriage, but you also took away one of her children! Children she had been raising for years on her own while you were out living it up in the world, leaving your responsibilities in the wind. You’re good at that forgetting thing, I’ll give you that much.”

“You don’t know anything about your mother or why our marriage failed, Harry. You only know what your mother told you—”

 _“Bullshit,”_ Harry gritted, but Des carried on, voice lowering and lifting in a terrible lullaby of supremacy.

“—She wanted you to believe that all I cared about was work because that’s how she interpreted—”

“You don’t know shit about how Anne interpreted anything! And where were you to tell me otherwise? I don’t care how she interpreted it because your actions solidified every word she said!”

Des blinked. A second later his eyes were no longer made of stone, and he lowered himself back into his seat. “All right.”

“What do you mean ‘all right’?”

“What I mean, Harry, is that I’m finished arguing.”

Harry waited for him to continue, his eyes searching for some sign of remaining anger, but he was met with a calm man, who slid his glasses back on and returned to his pile of papers. It was confusing, because Harry was still angry, but even he knew there wasn’t a point in arguing if the other person was impassive. “Why?” he asked, and his voice had a hint of disappointment and desperation, and he cleared his throat.

For a moment, the shuffling froze before Des resumed, keeping his eyes on the stack of papers. His voice came out very business-like, as if Harry was just an upset client. “Because, Harry, you don’t know the full story, and you won’t know unless you set aside your anger towards me, and allow me to explain my side.”

And while that all sounded very therapeutic, Harry had no interest in hearing Des’ “side of the story”, and he had no interest in practising the whole forgive and forget notion, so instead of letting his father coach him on how to be an empathetic son, Harry set his jaw and walked out.

○ April ○

Harry was awoken the following Saturday by the raging sound of a hair dryer. As he squinted his eyes to check the time, he noticed how the morning sun had hardly begun illuminating his dark room. That, and the smell of sausages.

“Mum?” he called out, sitting on the edge of his blanket. He pressed his palms to his eye sockets as he tried to remember what century it was at seven in the bleeding morning.

The dryer cut off and Anne’s voice drifted from down the hall. “Hey, love. Your breakfast is on the stove and the kettle is still hot if you want some tea.”

Harry shook out his hair and stood up, walking toward his mother’s room. He yawned into his knuckles and propped himself against the bathroom doorway. “Nah, I’m more of the coffee type, but thanks. How was Milan?”

“Marvellous. I even brought you some runway pieces back.” As she continued to apply her makeup and brush back her dry hair, he fell into a watchful silence.

When he was five, and there was still such a thing as a wholesome family, he used to sit on the bathroom floor and watch in complete fixation the way Anne’s hair transformed from a halo of untamed spirals into a sleek bun.

When he was seven, Gemma tried to practice the art of tucking away all of Harry’s loose strands as they tried to drown out the row downstairs by blasting music from her radio.

“Are you going to be home late tonight?” he asked, his gaze falling to the doorknob and to the tiny blue handprint that Anne never got around to cleaning up.

His mother continued rolling the deep plum colour on her lips before pressing a piece of tissue against them. “Why?” She turned to Harry with an arched eyebrow raised. “Do you have some place you need to be?”

And he supposed her scepticism was called for. Harry had stopped questioning his mother’s schedule years ago. “No, just wondering if I should order out for dinner tonight.”

Anne watched him with narrowed eyes before nodding to herself. “Well, actually I have a dinner to attend tonight,” – _surprise_ – “so do whatever you want.”

“Understood.”

❧

An hour after Anne had left, Niall came over looking both annoyed that he wasn’t asleep and frustrated that he couldn’t sleep any longer. “Fucking school messing up my body clock,” he had grumbled as he finished all the food Harry had been too full to eat.

They were now playing Xbox in the back room. Harry was distracted with his thoughts, which was evident when he shot Niall’s player even though they were on the same team.

After screaming and knocking over the coffee table, Niall finally calmed down enough to notice that Harry hadn’t even blinked at the charade and was looking a bit blanched. “All right, what’s the matter with you, then?” he asked, flopping down on the sofa.

“I think she knows.”

Niall furrowed his eyebrows. “Who knows what?”

“Anne. Like, she knows about me and Lou. How does she know?”

“Uh, maybe because you two aren’t exactly the sneakiest when it comes to hanging out. Not to mention that our entire neighbourhood snoops, especially Miss Lucy. Also, your mother is kind of influential and has informants throughout the city – ”

“Informants?” interrupted Harry. “She’s not a fucking spy.”

“Hey, you never know. Anyways, I wouldn’t worry about it. S’not like you and him are fucking – ” Harry let out a hysterical burst of laughter, and if that wasn’t obvious, then perhaps how he wrung out his hands was what caused Niall to narrow his eyes. “You two aren’t fucking, right?”

“Well…”

“Harry!”

Raising his hands in defence, Harry smiled sheepishly. “We use protection!”

Niall rolled his eyes and restarted the game. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me. No wonder you hated his guts one day and then the next you were writing poems about his eyelashes.”

“Neither of those things are true!” Harry had never hated Louis; the band as a whole – maybe. Also, he didn’t write poetry.

“Whatever,” Niall replied and handed over a controller. “You better be lucky I know how much you need to be sexed up or I would totally be drenching the kid’s house in lighter fuel.”

“Okay, well, I’m just going to pretend that you didn’t say any of that.”

“Yeah, well, try not to kill me this time around.”

❧

“You don’t think she actually knows though, right?” he asked an hour later. He was lying on his back in the floor, toes planted in the plush carpet as he tried and failed to remember what his work schedule was this weekend. “Like, she would say something if she suspected anything?”

“I don’t know.” Niall stepped out of the kitchen with a plate of leftover ribs and balanced his bum on top of Harry’s propped knees. He licked the sauce off his fingers as he placed the dish on Harry’s stomach. “Just like how I didn’t know you and your beau were shagging, she probably doesn’t know anything. Not yet anyways. But you should probably tell her soon before she finds out from someone like Des or one of those magazines in Tesco.”

Harry hummed and picked up a clean rib bone. He envisioned it splattered with purples and silvers and wondered if it could be one of his semester pieces. “Maybe. I don’t think Miss Lucy would tell her even if she is a meddler. And I doubt Des would. They most likely haven’t spoken since the divorce.” He removed the expensive china from his stomach and shook his knees until Niall fell to the ground. “But I’ll tell her.”

❧

He didn’t – and it’s not because he didn’t want to, but because Anne upped and left for Los Angeles three days later. So with that task postponed, and Easter Holiday coming up, Harry took the train to London, partly because Louis had asked nicely and partly because Niall was in Ireland visiting families and wreaking havoc as per usual.

When he arrived at the flat, Zayn was in the front room playing paddy cake with what looked to be one of Harry’s weekend students. When the door shut, the two looked up, and yep that was definitely Brooklyn.

“Harry!” she exclaimed, running over and squeezing his torso. Her black tutu ruffled against his jeans. “Look who it is, Uncle Z!”

Zayn watched the exchange with a raised eyebrow and crossed arms. “Yeah, I see who it is. Louis isn’t here,” he told Harry once Brooklyn had let go and skipped back into the room.

“Wh – ”

“He’s at Asda with Liam,” he answered, turning back around to walk into the living room.

Harry followed. “What’s he getting there?”

Brooklyn was the one to answer that. “Fairy cake things for me.”

“But it’s not your birthday.”

“I know. It’s because I want fairy cakes and Uncle Z said I can have whatever I want.”

Harry raised an eyebrow at Zayn who chewed on his gum. “I’m her godfather,” he explained, picking up one of her toys and colouring more tattoos on its plastic skin with sharpie. “It’s my job not to say ‘no’.”

❧

Harry had just finished teaching Brooklyn how to draw a mermaid when both his and Zayn’s phones vibrated with texts. Louis had sent him a message saying he and Liam had taken a wrong turn and would possibly not be back for another thirty minutes. From the way Zayn snorted before typing back a response, he must have received something similar.

“Your boyfriend is a mess,” Zayn said, slipping his phone back into his pocket.

“Yeah? He told you that he missed a turn, too?”

“Nah, said that the store had ran out of ingredients. Like what type of shit is that?” Brooklyn didn’t bat an eye at his vulgar language, apparently used to it.

Harry bit the inside of his lip anyhow. “You curse around her all the time?”

Zayn shrugged and ran a hand through his hair. “I guess? Her parents curse more than I do, and they are, like, sophisticated doctors, so. She’s smart enough not to repeat them.”

“That’s true,” Brooklyn chirped. She reached for the remote on the coffee table and turned the volume up as a cartoon came on the telly.

“Anyways,” Zayn said and popped another bubble between his teeth. “Lou and Li are stalling. They say that we’re not cordial.”

Harry blinked. So he hadn’t been imagining Zayn’s hostility. “We’re not?”

“Exactly.” Zayn spat out the gum into a napkin on the coffee table and motioned toward the six year old. “Watch her. I’m gonna go smoke.”

❧

When Louis and Liam came home an hour later, Brooklyn nearly tackled them both at the threshold. “Fairy cakes!” she screamed until Liam dropped his bags and chased her.

“Hey, babe,” Louis greeted as he picked up the remaining bag and walked into the kitchen.

Harry raised an eyebrow as he followed him, leaning against the table as Louis began unpacking. “You know your little plan didn’t work right? Zayn and I still are as amiable as we were the first day we met.”

Louis shrugged and stopped putting up groceries to brush a kiss against his mouth. “Well, we tried.” He pulled back and looked at the ingredients and utensils with wide eyes.

“You have absolutely no clue what you’re doing,” Harry said.

Louis turned to him. “How did you know?”

Harry smirked. “Lucky guess. Good thing I know a thing or two about baking, yeah?”

And that was how Harry had unintentionally signed up for an afternoon of pink fairy cake making while Zayn and Liam took Brooklyn out for dinner. Hot pink and rose coloured food dye stained the counters and their mouths as they tried to sneakily taste some of the batter behind the other’s back. Louis had even bought pink frosting and sprinkles, so after all the cakes had been taken out of the oven and cooled, Harry frosted them and let Louis be good for something and dust the sprinkles. They stepped back to observe the platter and nodded in unison.

“The next time you say you know a ‘thing or two’ about something, I’m absolutely letting you take over,” Louis said, grabbing one of the desserts and biting into it. Pink frosting covered his nose as he moaned in delight at the taste. Harry smiled and leaned in to kiss him, but Louis pulled back. “I have food in my mouth!” he declared and bit another piece.

Harry lifted one shoulder and leaned in again. “I don’t care,” he whispered before melding their lips together.

“Oh for fuck’s sake!” Liam said when he walked in a moment later. Zayn and Brooklyn were behind him and Harry pulled back with a giggle as she went straight for the fairy cakes, oblivious. Or so he thought.

Once everyone had a cake and were beginning to exit the kitchen, Brooklyn gestured for Harry to lean down so she could tell him something. “You and Lou are very pretty together. Also, you have a bit of pink on your face.”

❧

Harry and Niall had planned that for school they would rent a place together, so once Niall had returned from Ireland they decided to start looking at flats close to their university.

They had been searching for four hours now, and they couldn’t agree on not a single one. The buildings had either been too creaky for Harry’s liking or didn’t have enough extra rooms for Niall’s darkroom and shoe collection. So they decided to take a break, and stopped for slush puppies and sandwiches to regroup. Harry slurped on his drink while Niall scrolled through his phone, typing out a message with one hand while bringing his turkey and cheese to his mouth with his other. He stopped texting suddenly, and stared at Harry with wide eyes. “Bro.”

“What?” Harry asked, popping his straw out of his mouth.

“Why didn’t we think to ask my dad if he had any open flats?”

Harry blinked. “Damn. That’s true. Does he have any by school?”

Niall scrolled through his contacts before putting his phone to his ear. “I’m pretty sure he has one in central London.”

While Niall got hold of his father, Harry took a bite of his sandwich. He had only met Bobby Horan a handful of times, and they were all before Niall’s mum and his divorce. Still, he had been a good time as far as Harry could remember, and it was obvious where Niall had gotten his loud personality from.

“Okay, see you in a bit,” Niall said before hanging up and clasping his hands. “Looks like we have a loft now!”

“A loft?” Harry wiped a napkin across his mouth. “How much will that cost?”

Niall rolled his eyes. “It’s free, obviously.”

And, okay, that made sense. “Right. Perks of having a parent in a multibillion pound real estate company. How could I ever forget?”

“You get free clothes and I get free houses,” Niall shrugged, “I say we have a pretty beneficial friendship here, H. “

“Irreplaceable.”

❧

The flat was on the top floor of a tall building complex, and Harry gaped when he saw how spacious it was. There were six rooms, so Niall could have his precious shoe collection and darkroom, Harry could have his studio space, and they each had a room plus the room left over. The first level had a kitchen and two bedrooms while the rest of the rooms were on the second floor.

When Harry walked back downstairs, he sucked in an audible breath when he saw the loft styled windows on the far side of the living room. He settled next to Niall who was already looking out at the view of Central London. “This is sick,” he breathed, nose practically pushed against the glass.  

“So what do you think?” Bobby asked, clapping them both on the back.

Harry glanced at Niall, who nodded his head. “To be honest,” Harry began, “this view is what I’ve been waiting for my whole life.”

Bobby laughed and Niall rolled his eyes fondly. “We’ll take it, Dad.”

○ May ○

There was green paint everywhere: on the canvas, bits splattered on the wooden stand and green globs slicking down the walls from a flicked paintbrush. Dried paint was stuck under nails and dripped down forearms, smeared across both his cheeks and forehead. The painting – if he could even call it that yet – was beginning to take form when he stood back with hands on hips, paint smudges in the cotton of his white vest. There was still something missing though, he thought as he eyed his palette, tasting a bit of paint as he troubled his bottom lip between his teeth for a moment.

He was about to brush another stroke when the steps to the basement creaked and down came Louis in all his sweatpants and beanie glory. “Hi love,” his voice rasped, positively scratched up and Harry didn’t know why it was attractive, but it definitely was. Anything that defined Louis was attractive.

Harry set down his supplies and stepped over the plastic wrap until his feet finally hit cold marble, pulling Louis in for a hug. “All right?” he asked when he dropped his arms, trying not to smile at the green traces transferred to Louis’ left cheek from his right. He gestured toward the pool table off to the side and hoisted himself up on the edge while Louis leaned against it. Harry flicked his hair out of his eyes, preening when Louis ran his fingers through the strands so that it kept out of Harry’s face altogether. “Thanks,” he muttered and placed his own hands underneath his thighs.

He watched Louis take in the state of the basement before turning back to take in the state of Harry. “You know,” he began, swiping his thumb over Harry’s cheek and dragging it so that it left a smudge of green in its wake, “there’s a canvas for a reason. You don’t need to paint your skin as well, darling.”

“It just sort of happened,” Harry responded distractedly, too focused on the way Louis continued to massage the paint into the skin along his jawline. Harry hooked his ankle around Louis’ calf and drew him closer, spreading his thighs so he could stand between them.

Louis glanced up from his thumb movements to Harry’s eyes; smiled before removing his hand and cupping Harry’s cheek instead, slotting their lips together. It was brief but not chaste; lips soft and noses brushing slightly. Louis rested his forehead against Harry’s before retracting and having a matching band of green across his own. He set his hands atop Harry’s thighs and sighed, a tired sound that escaped his parted lips and immediately caused a frown upon Harry’s face. Louis laughed at the abrupt change and thumbed at the boy’s pout. “What’s the matter?”

“I could ask you the same thing.” Harry flipped one of Louis’ hands over and held their palms together.

“Nothing, just…I’ve been thinking, like, what if America doesn’t accept the band? What happens after that?”

Harry brought the hand he was holding to his mouth and kissed the knuckles. “I think America will love you guys if they don’t already. In fact, I know, because if a not very musically inclined guy like me can like you turds after one song, then so can anyone else.”

Stifling his eye roll, Louis squeezed the hand that remained on Harry’s thigh. “You’re probably right, it’s just that everything is finally falling into place, you know? Everything the boys and I have planned for is actually happening and I gotta admit that it’s a bit terrifying.”

“You’ll be all right. A little fear never hurt nobody.” Harry grinned, leaning forward to bite at Louis’ mouth. More kissing took place, lasting longer and becoming messy quickly, and it could have been seconds or minutes later when Harry withdrew to see Louis’ lips bitten raw, his face speckled with even more green than before. “America won’t know what hit them,” he said, mouth twisting into a smirk.

Louis blinked, slightly dazed, and when he spoke, his voice was a bit more broken than it had been before. “You’re – wow. Christ, Haz.”

“Not really, but I appreciate the comparison.” Harry winked and slid off the table, walking back over to where his canvas stood.

There were a few moments of silence where Harry stared at his painting with furrowed eyebrows, picking up and putting back down his palette before Louis moved to stand beside him. He watched in silence as Harry mixed some white into the green, turning it into a lighter shade, and then transforming a shapeless blob into a silhouette. Minutes passed before Harry stepped back once more, one hand gripping the wooden plate while the other scratched the skin at his hip. He turned to face Louis, who was already staring back at him. “What do you think?”

Louis didn’t miss a beat, didn’t even look at the painting. “Beautiful.”

Rolling his eyes, Harry tried not to focus on the blush that lit up his cheeks. “About the _painting_ , Lou; what do you think about the painting?”

Louis shrugged, eyes directed on the piece now. He squinted, cocked his head, tapped his foot. His mouth opened a few times before he snapped his fingers. “Got it – it’s very green.”

Harry burst out laughing, though it was hardly _that_ funny, and he flicked his brush at the boy’s face, the paint landing in dots on his nose and eyebrows and in the cupid’s bow of his upper lip. “Everyone's a critic, huh?” He grinned, putting down his paints and wrapping his arms around Louis’ shoulders.

“Why are you painting in one colour anyway?” Louis asked, albeit grumpily, as he leaned back in Harry’s embrace, resting the back of his head on Harry’s collar bone.

“I don’t know, artistic choice maybe? I think it’s missing something though.” Harry pouted, sitting his chin atop Louis’ hair.

“It is,” Louis agreed, smacking his tongue because he could definitely taste acrylic in his mouth. He stepped out of Harry’s arms so that he could reach for the palette and the blue paint bottle on the cluttered table. He squeezed too much, the colour intermixing into the green and white but that was just something Louis did – knocked down boundaries. He didn’t go for a brush though; instead strode to the canvas and swirled his index finger into the blue, dabbing it into the bit of white space left. He looked over his shoulder at Harry with a raised eyebrow. “If you just trace around the major, uh, blob things with the blue, then it will give it more definition.”

Harry sidled up next to him, thought about what he said and realised that Louis was, well, not _wrong._ “But—”

“No buts, just paint the damn thing.”

Harry glanced at the canvas, then at the outstretched wood before taking it from Louis’ hands with a resigned sigh. He attained a brush and dipped it into the blue, spreading the colour in measured strokes. It took a good fifteen minutes for Harry to be satisfied, but Louis waited anyway, and made a content sound in the back of his throat when it was finished.

“You like it then?” Harry asked, tilted his head as he drummed his now-blue coated fingertips beside his mouth. He was staring at the piece so it was a surprise when Louis took his face into his hands and covered his mouth with his own.

When they pulled apart, Louis laughed while wiping off Harry’s mouth. “We’re a mess, but yes. I like it. I love it.”

Harry’s chest cavity seized up a bit until he grasped that Louis hadn’t actually said what he thought he said, but his panic ha to be showing on his face because Louis had a questioning look on his. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Harry quickly mollified, turning back towards the painting. It did look good – amazing, even – with the way the green was the main focus with little patterns of blue woven throughout. The two colours balanced each other out, with just enough contrast that it was noticeable, but hardly enough that all there was to see was two distinct colours – the way it would have been if he’d used red as a complementary colour.

He felt fingers brush against his wrist, and when he peeped down to their now entangled hands, he saw a reflection of what was on the canvas. Most of the fingers on his right hand were coated with green paint while the fingers on Louis’ left hand were coated with blue, and when he glanced up, Louis’ blue eyes were staring into his green ones, and maybe there was a metaphor in all of that or maybe it was all merely a coincidence. Whichever, Harry couldn't help feeling as if there were something more, something inside of him that quelled and raged constantly whenever he was with this boy.

❧

It was raining when Harry arrived at the studio; a storm of gusty winds and lightning strikes, with thunder that vibrated against his skin but settled deep inside his bones. His jacket was slick and his socks squished inside his boots while he walked past the receptionist and the platinum-plaque walls and the polished chairs to the room that was too big and filled with faux-comforting sofas. The space was lit to the bare minimum as if it were not a necessity to be able to see two feet in front, and Harry supposed it was intended to create a relaxing aura, but it made him feel heavy and anxious.

He sat on the floor, immediately reminded of the bean bags at Louis’ home studio, back pressed against the leather of the couch. He had been here once before when he was in the neighbourhood and the boys were recording, foggy-eyed and star quality. It’s different now, more silent and a symbol of how big the boys were becoming – how they could only get bigger, their lives more complex. He pondered taking off his jacket and shoes because it was rude to be soaked in such a dry place, but he never made the effort.

Louis came out of a hidden door some time later looking equally soft and exhausted. He was wearing the beanie Harry had left over at his house a few weeks past, the only one whose brim wasn’t crusted with hard paint and which so happened to be Harry’s favourite. Louis’ glasses sloped down his nose at a dangerous rate though they never slipped off. He had a binder nestled in the crook of his elbow, loose paper edges catching on his navy blue sweatshirt. His face brightened substantially when he saw Harry, a bit like the way one who was two blinks away from falling asleep standing up would when there was a bed right in front of them. Relief, maybe.

“Hey,” he said, placing his work on the mahogany table and sitting beside Harry on the floor. There were bags under his eyes, nothing like the bruises pressed in Harry’s pale skin, but they were prominent, and Harry wanted to touch his lips to each one.

“Hi,” Harry greeted back, voice soft because he was beginning to relax, no longer felt as if the dark was closing in on him now that he had a beam of light next to him. “You’re here alone.”

“Let the boys get some sleep; been recording non-stop since forever.”

There was a humming somewhere in the room, quiet and omnipresent. Harry toed off his sodden shoes and stretched out his legs, patted his thighs for Louis to place his head. “I figured,” he breathed, massaging the pads of his fingers into Louis’ temples. He felt the boy melt instantaneously under his touch. “Good on you then. Proper band leader.”

A few minutes later and Louis yawned, dragging Harry’s hands around to kiss at the knuckles. They weren’t colour-stained tonight, merely pale from the autumn sun. Louis mouthed ‘I love you’into the skin, Harry knew, though it didn’t make him flinch. Not this time. It was the fact that it had been said more times than Harry could count stars, painted onto flesh in more strokes than Harry was capable of creating on a blank canvas, and Harry should have felt full with it; trapped in the same way he had felt in his last relationship. He should have felt something, and he did, though it was more akin to protection than oppression, like the phrase adjusted around his body rather than restricted his air supply.

Harry pressed a kiss to the back of Louis’ head, right against the cotton of the beanie that still smelled like Harry, and the words weren’t lodged in his throat anymore, weren’t stoic blocks stuck to the roof of his mouth. They still weren’t as light as he wanted them to be; still caused his mouth to dry and his tongue to freeze whenever he was close to snapping them out. They weren’t as light as air the way Louis’ seemed to be, slipping out like water. Louis didn’t seem to mind though; he kissed the words right out of Harry’s mouth every time, dug them into the meat of his hipbone, leaving proof for days afterwards. He saw it in every artwork, in every hidden smile, and that was enough for Harry. For the time being, anyway.  



	3. June - July

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> mention of unsafe sex

○ June ○

The end of term art show was in three days and Louis couldn’t go. He had a flight to Italy hours before the show started. It wasn’t that big of deal, really – it was just that everyone Harry cared about was going to be there (Gemma was even flying in from New York). But the world wasn’t going to end just because his boyfriend wasn’t going to be there as well.

Harry kept his face blank as he finished adding yellow to his burning star painting.  It was set in the centre of a dark blue and black background, and a red tank was tilted and spilling gasoline onto the sun. A few months earlier he had discovered the inked stars on the flipside of Louis’ bottom lip and was inspired when he heard the line of poetry that had inspired them.

_Drench my stars in gasoline and tell me it was you who caused them to flame so bright._

“That’s amazing, Haz,” Louis said from where he was reclining against Harry’s pile of pillows.

Harry capped all of his paints before walking over to his bed and crawling in next to him. “Thank you. I still wish you were coming.”

Louis opened his arms and Harry cuddled close. “Me too,” he murmured, running a hand along Harry’s hair. “You’ll smash it regardless.”

Harry wasn’t too sure about that; his anxiety always amplified during events like these. He didn’t say anything though, just pecked Louis on the mouth and fell asleep in his embrace.

❧

“Make sure you hang that up where you can see it every day, Ida,” Niall said to the curly haired girl whom Harry had handed his second to last painting to. The girl giggled before handing Harry her money and walking away. Niall hopped up on the table and blew a bubble with his gum.

“You’d make an excellent vendor, mate,” Harry quipped, and slipped his wallet back into his pocket. His paintings had sold quickly enough, the rumour mill causing a lot of people to attend who wouldn’t normally. They all asked if Louis was coming and Niall would intercept with an ‘are you going to buy art or what’ before Harry could roll his eyes out of his head. He sat next to Niall and watched as Gemma came over with plastic cups in her hands.

“Did you know they don’t serve chardonnay here?” she asked, handing both of the boys a drink. “I had to get sparkling cider like we’re in bloody primary.” Taking notice of the lack of paintings left, she crossed her arms and let out a low whistle. “This is really impressive, little bro. You came in here with – what – eleven pieces?”

“Yeah,” Harry said, taking a sip.  “Apparently people actually dig my work. Don’t know why to be honest.”

A loud squeal erupted then, drawing all of their attention to the other side of the room. Harry huffed out a laugh when he saw Louis being tackled in an embrace from two of Harry’s classmates. Zayn and Liam were right behind him looking as if they hadn’t planned to be recognised…at a year thirteen art show.

When Niall stood on the table and wolf whistled, the look on the three boys’ faces was of pure relief and they quickly sidestepped the oncoming tidal wave of excited students as they walked over. “I thought you had to catch your flight,” Harry said after nearly squeezing Louis to death.

“We did,” Zayn said, sidling next to Gemma, “but someone insisted we take a later flight so they could see their boyfriend one last time.”

“Shut up.” Louis flipped him off and wrapped his arm around Harry’s waist. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

Rescheduling a flight just to come to an art show seemed like a big deal to Harry, and he hid his wide smile in Louis’ shoulder. “Thank you,” he whispered into the fleece of his sweatshirt.

Louis returned his smile by taking Harry’s face into his hands and snogging him. Over the sea of cooing from the rest of the room watching their exchange, Harry heard Gemma whistle and Niall call out an “oi, keep it PG, lads”. He giggled into the kiss and only pulled Louis closer, feeling smitten beyond belief.

❧

Harry fidgeted with his fringe and pouted at himself in the bathroom mirror. He had been at this gala for a little over an hour and his curls were already drooping. He ran his fingers through the strands one last time before giving up and sweeping his hair back with a hairband he kept on his wrist.

As he exited the toilets, he noticed that the ballroom was more crowded than when he had left and that the majority of the buzz was coming from the table The Rogue were sitting at. It still surprised Harry every time they were in public how popular the boys had gotten since January. They would only get bigger from here, with the upcoming American tour and all, and something settled hard in the pit of Harry’s stomach at the thought.  

Louis excused himself from a conversation he was having with a man who had a wicked beard when he saw Harry, and walked away from the table. “Hey,” he said, pressing a kiss to Harry’s cheek. “Nice hair.”

Harry’s hand flew to his bun. “Is it too much? It was getting in my way and I should probably get it cut – ”

“It fits you, love.” Louis smiled and grabbed two champagne flutes as a tray passed them. He handed one to Harry before clinking their glasses together. “I have to get back, but I wanted to tell you that your dad has been looking for you.”

“Why?”

Louis shrugged and squeezed his hip once before backing toward his table. “I’ll be right back, yeah?”

“Okay,” Harry replied slowly, the word barely leaving his mouth when he saw a couple approaching out the side of his eye. Des and his personal assistant. He took a sip from his drink, holding the bubbles in his mouth before swallowing harshly and placing a closed mouth grin on his face. “Dad. Lydia,” he greeted respectively. He tried to keep his gaze from falling to where Des’ hand rested against the woman’s hip.

“Harry,” the man responded back, no underlying current of trepidation in his voice. It made Harry bristle. “Pleasure to see you tonight.”

Taking another sip, Harry twirled the stem between his thumb and index finger. “Is it?”

Lydia smiled and reached out to touch his arm. “Of course it is, Harry. It’s amazing that you’re here to support Louis and the boys.”

Harry looked down at where her cherry painted nails stood stark against his forearm. “Why wouldn’t I support my boyfriend or his band?” he asked, trying to keep the shock out of his tone as he removed his arm.

“No one is saying you wouldn’t,” Des said, swooping in to the rescue. Harry wished Louis would bring his arse back over here. “We’re just surprised you came to such an event.”

“Right.” Harry looked around them to the boys’ table and gave a silent sigh of relief that Louis appeared to be wrapping up his conversation. “Well, Louis asked, so I came.”

“That’s lovely,” Lydia said, her earring studs catching in the light. “Would you do the same if he asked you to join him on the American tour?”

Harry shook his head. Not that it was any of her business, but, “I’ll probably be in school when they go, so no.”

Louis was back at his side before Harry had to engage in any more idle chatting with his father’s fling while the man looked like he wanted to be anywhere besides talking to his forgotten son. Harry wouldn’t be surprised if it had been Lydia’s idea to come over in the first place. “Sup, boss man,” Louis said, fist bumping Des and smiling politely at Lydia. He glanced at Harry asking with his eyes if things were okay. Harry looked away.

“You’ve been busy speaking with important people, I hope,” Des said, suddenly looking livelier than he had been.

“Obviously,” Louis smirked. “They’re all important, aren’t they?”

“All here for you guys, as well. Big things on the horizons.”

“We couldn’t have any of it without one of the greatest managers.”

Harry was going to be sick.

Lydia smiled, all rich lipstick and white teeth. It was annoying. Everything was annoying, but especially her smile. “I guess we’ll have to wait and see what this year brings.”

“I guess so,” Harry interrupted, his fingers clenched around his glass.

Before there was a chance of flying alcohol, Louis was holding Harry’s elbow and steering him away, a quick farewell thrown over his shoulder to the man and woman. “Haz,” he began when they arrived in the hallway.

Harry huffed and glared at his drink. He despised this place – he despised his father. “I want to leave,” he said, his eyes remaining downcast.

A moment passed where Louis didn’t say anything; where the music and the chatter from the ballroom drifted through the walls and roared as guest after guest flitted in and out of the doors. A moment where Harry’s elbow was still in Louis’ grasp, and when he looked up, Harry saw empathy glimmering in the blues and was immediately washed in a sense of calming.

“All right,” Louis replied as if he could simply walk out of the function held in his band’s honour.

Harry didn’t tell him otherwise.

“All right,” he breathed back, teeth biting into the rim of his sparkling wine.

Pressing a kiss to the tip of Harry’s nose, Louis whispered that he would be right back before squeezing his elbow and disappearing back into the gala.

Harry sat down his drink on a silver table holding a miniature tree, and looked around at the walls holding a surprising lack of artwork. He tried not to think about the feeling that swam around his chest at a dangerous pace; instead tapped his fingers against his wrist until Louis returned a few minutes later. He held their jackets in his hand, and Harry couldn’t ignore the sound of his blood mixed with an overwhelming sensation of gratefulness and – Harry definitely needed to get out of there.

❧

Fact: Harry wasn’t a bad person. At least, that was what Louis seemed to believe, and perhaps it was because it had been said forty five times since they walked out – yes, Harry counted – that he let the golden boy convince him to remain in the parking lot rather than drive back home. Also, Harry hadn’t actually wanted to go back to an empty house – mother dearest was in Greece for a business trip, and as long as he wasn’t near his father and whoever the hell that woman was supposed to be, he was okay.

Apparently Louis had already known Harry would agree to sitting in the parking lot because he hadn’t even bothered to plug the keys into the ignition before he was pulling the younger boy in for a hug – unexpected but, as Harry melted into it instantly, totally necessary.

The hug was a while ago however, and as the sky leaked into darker shades of blue, Harry was now watching with half-lidded eyes as tiny wisps of smoke disappeared out the inches of cracked open window. He had that tugging in the pit of his stomach again as he observed the shape of Louis’ mouth around the cigarette and how he wanted nothing more than that same mouth against his own.

He shifted in the seat so his feet were tucked underneath him and reached over to pluck the cigarette from Louis’ lips. “Hi,” he whispered, leaning in for a kiss. Louis obliged easily, hauling Harry over the armrest into his lap without breaking them apart. He tasted like the colour grey; like summertime rain and kettle steam. Harry pulled back slightly so he could see where he was stubbing out the cigarette and rested both his hands on Louis’ shoulders before tugging him flush against him.

“Hi.” Louis beamed when they broke apart once again. Harry immediately pressed his lips against the other boy’s neck pulse to catch his breath. Carding his fingers through curls, Louis hummed a melody that vibrated deep in Harry’s chest and against his fingertips.

Harry willed himself to not jolt back when those words screamed in his mind, loud and without escape. He shut his eyelids tighter and dug his teeth into skin to keep from voicing the words out loud. His actions proved to be counterproductive, however, with the noise it pulled out of Louis causing him to grip at Harry with a ferocity as if he knew…but…

Cool, summer night air continued to sweep through the opened windows, chilling Harry’s bones as he unattached himself from Louis’ neck and took a look at his face. He wanted to scribble the shadows of his cheekbones with lead and find the perfect shade of feather brown for his eyelashes. He craved to be able to stare at the watery blue eyes and the sunlit skin for all time, and the words had found their way into his mouth, swelling so they bumped against his cheeks and teeth until the only choice he had was to say them or they’d surge out on their own.

He placed his hands on either side of Louis’ face and leaned in just enough for their lips to be a twitch forward from brushing. “I want you so much,” he mumbled, closing the gap gently, the words swept against smoke-tinged lips. He sighed and pushed back once more, only this time farther so he could see pale eyes speckled with glitter that stared back with the sort of fire Harry wanted to always be on the receiving end of. “I’m in love with you.”

The words slipped out effortlessly, and Harry took no notice until under his palms he felt the spread of Louis’ smile. Realising it was fruitless anyhow, because Louis was surging forward to match their lips, muttering the phrase back into his wet mouth. (And that had been the source of Harry’s anxiety, hadn’t it, fearing that his feelings wouldn’t be reciprocated? If the way Louis was holding him so close and stealing his breath away was any indication – he could check that fear off indefinitely.)

○ July ○

There was an annual luncheon Anne hosted in early July for her fashion associates before they would all disperse in a summer frenzy. Harry went begrudgingly every year; always opting to not follow the dress code, because it would cause the designers’ eyes to bug out, and the bloggers to offer him fashion advice, and his mother to smile as tightly as the grip she had on her wine glass. This year’s dress code was a simple white, and he’d already picked out a smoke-coloured blazer when his mother had stopped into his room.

“I think you ought to invite Louis,” she had said, leaning against the door and choosing to ignore the jacket in his hands. “Everyone seems to have met him but me.”

So that was why Harry was running around like a headless chicken two days later, clad in only a towel as he opened the door to let Louis in. “Hi,” he said and pecked him on the side of his mouth. His hair dripped water down his torso from him not having time to wring it out before he received a text of ‘I’m outside x’.

His mother had left an hour earlier to get things set up at the hotel, and it had just set in that Anne was going to meet Louis and it was tripping Harry out. Horrendously.

“Love, calm down,” Louis coaxed from where he sat on the end of Harry’s mattress, watching the boy brush his hair out so hard that he yanked his head every stroke. He had picked up on Harry’s anxious habits in the past few months, could spot an oncoming attack from a mile away. He walked over and eased the brush out of his grip before placing his hands on either side of his face.

Harry took in a deep breath and dropped his gaze. “I don’t want her to hate you.”

“Why would she hate me?” he asked, working a hand up to massage at Harry’s scalp.

“Because,” Harry said, taking in another breath and releasing it slowly, “I really, really like you, Louis, so of course I want her to like you as well.” It was a stupid thing to worry about, because everyone liked Louis after they met him, or at least were intrigued, and Anne probably wouldn’t be much different. That didn’t help with calming his nerves, however. “It’s dumb,” he mumbled, “don’t worry about it.”

“Of course I’m going to worry about it, Haz. It’s not fair that you get to be worried about me and I don’t get to be worried about you. But let’s find a distraction so we’ll both worry less.”

“Yeah?” Harry perked up when Louis began walking towards the bed. “What kind of distraction?”

Louis snorted. “Not that kind of distraction,” he said, bypassing the bed altogether and going over to the walk-in closet. He raised an eyebrow at the blazer that hung on the door. “You’re not wearing this.”

Harry crossed his arms and walked over. “And why not?”

“Because you told me that your mum said the dress code was white and this is very much so grey.”

“It’s smoke, actually,” Harry sniffed. “And I’m very much so wearing it thank you very much.”

“But babe,” Louis whined, gently pulling Harry close by his wrists, “you have to wear white because I’m gonna wear white, and how else will we be a proper couple if we’re not wearing the same colours?”

Harry giggled as Louis trailed his fingers down his bare chest. “Fine,” he said, only conceding because he was ticklish and there was a definite pout on his boyfriend’s face. “But I’m not going to be happy about it.”

He held true to that statement the entire ten minutes it took for them to find him an outfit, groaning and sighing until Louis cupped his bum through the towel and kissed him silent. And because Harry was only wearing a towel, he couldn’t simply disregard the fact that he was hard. “You’re so unfair,” Harry nipped into his lips, their bodies colliding after Louis backed them towards the mattress. “And no love bites.”

❧

Harry tied a white bandana around his fluffed out hair and glanced down to unbutton his shirt. He winced as he tucked his bottom lip into his mouth, still bruised from Louis sucking all the marks not allowed anywhere else into it. He turned around to see the perpetrator fixing his wave of fringe in the mirror and he smiled at his focused expression before walking over to rest his chin on his shoulder. “Let’s go meet Mummy Dearest,” he mumbled.

❧

The luncheon took place on a rooftop – which is a bit pompous if you ask Harry – and the sky was a pretty blue and filled with the occasional white cloud. It matched Anne’s theme perfectly: the guests in white and the décor in cerulean, and she practically fainted when she saw that Harry was in appropriate dress and nearly hugged Louis to death when Harry had told him who was responsible for such a tragedy.

Harry took a sip of his red wine while Louis laughed beside him with the people who recognised him – requesting autographs and pictures for their children that most likely didn’t exist. When someone handed him a business card in case he needed a contract read, Louis turned to Harry with a raised eyebrow. “Why does your mum know so many lawyer people?”

Harry nodded towards the table where Anne and Robin sat, heads bowed together in laughter. “New boo, new contacts.”

His mother’s designer friends didn’t disappoint this year when they finally snagged him away from Louis long enough. They gushed over his outfit (apparently white is chic) and over his boyfriend and passively tried to get information about a festival set list. Louis swooped in just as Harry was furrowing his eyebrows. “What festival?” he asked as they walked over to the glass wall, sun kissing their skin.

“Oh, well it was a surprise, but the boys and I are headlining a festival in East London next month. And I was wondering…” Louis trailed off and ran his thumbs over Harry’s knuckles. “If you wanted to come with? You don’t have to stay the entire time but – ”

Harry squealed over the remainder of his sentence and pounced on him. “Of course!” He said, wrapping his body around Louis’.

❧

The affair lasted until late afternoon, and the last guest left as the sky turned pink at the edges. Louis had offered to stay after to help with the clean-up much to Harry’s dismay because all he wanted was to go home and sleep until his stomach was no longer full. Anne was delighted at Louis’ request, and said that it would be the perfect opportunity for her to interrogate him, one-on-one.

The interrogation was looking a lot like enrapture to Harry as he folded the table cloths across the roof. Someone cleared their throat from behind him, and he slowly turned his head around.

“Hi, Harry,” his mother’s boyfriend greeted and offered his hand. “I’m Robin. We’ve met before, haven’t we?”

Harry shook his hand. “Yes. Briefly,” he added distractedly as his attention floated back over to where the two were laughing. The sound of expensive gold jewellery rustled behind him, and Harry looked to find the man picking up one of the white sheets to help fold.

They worked in silence for a bit, Harry trying not to wonder what topic Louis and Anne’s conversation had digressed to, when Robin struck up conversation again. “You know, your mum always shows me photos of your art whenever she can, and I must say that you’re a very talented artist, Harry.”

Harry picked up another cloth to distract himself from his warm cheeks. “Thank you,” he said.

“No problem.” He dropped his fabric into the box and crossed his arms. The setting sun caught on his watch and rings like the spark of a fire. “If you ever want to visit a gallery, I have an artist friend who wouldn’t mind sparing a few tickets, especially for someone as skilled as yourself.”

“What type of gallery, like the Louvre?”

Robin chuckled. “Or the Metropolitan.”

“In New York?”

“That’s the one.”

Harry didn’t doubt him for a minute, his mum always knew people who knew people. “You don’t have to do that,” he said.

“No, but consider it an apology for stealing your mother away for the last couple of months.” Robin’s eyes then coasted over to where Anne was smiling at Louis as they placed the centrepieces into boxes, the sky turning punch and lavender behind them.

“It’s okay; you’ve made her really happy,” he said, catching Louis’ gaze from across the roof. He smiled dopily and felt his stomach flutter like they were seeing one another for the first time. “Everyone deserves a bit of happiness, I think.”

❧

“Hey, Harry!” Liam called from where he was pushing cases into the back of the van. “The lads are still packing inside.”

The summer sun was out early this morning, and Harry saw the sweat on Liam’s skin when he stepped forward, pushing his sunglasses up into his hair.

“Do you need help?” he asked, eyebrows knitted together because he was certain that in the time he had known them, he had never once seen the other boys lifting a piece of equipment.

Liam waved him off, however, rubbing his palms down the front of his shorts and pulling Harry in for an embrace. “All right? I haven’t seen you since the gala!”

Harry tried not to cringe at how it probably looked with him disappearing like that. “Yeah, sorry about that. Lou must have explained why I had to get out of there.”

“Nah, not really,” Liam said. “This is the first time we’ve all been together since I moved out.”

“What?” Harry said, eyebrows raising in surprise. “You moved out? Since when?” He thought it had been a bit quieter at the house, but then again he couldn’t hear much over his, er, moans.

Liam just chuckled at his reaction and grabbed a mic stand to arrange into the van. Harry noticed how all of the passenger seats had been folded down to make room but didn’t have time to process anything before Liam was responding. “I moved out just a few weeks ago. It’s not like I can’t afford it, right? Plus, it was getting a bit crowded here, don’t you think?”

Before Harry could decipher what that was supposed to mean, Louis came bounding out of the house, a Marvel backpack full of questionable items on his shoulders and a bag of luggage in his hand. His face lit up like it always did when he saw Harry, and Harry’s cheeks blushed in return as per usual, his lips parting in anticipation. “We’re taking my car if that’s okay with you?” Louis said when they separated. “Just so we’re all not squished together in this shit of a van, isn’t that right, Payno?”

“Bugger off,” Liam laughed, closing the doors. “It’s mostly because neither Zayn nor I want to see excessive PDA in the daytime.”

Louis rolled his eyes and made a show of kissing Harry on the nose. He giggled when Harry wrinkled his nose because he’s sure his nostrils were just licked. Bumping their shoulders together, he took Harry’s luggage into his hands. “I’m gonna go put these in the boot, yeah?”

“Mhmm,” Harry said, watching him walk away to the black Escalade. He turned away just in time to see Zayn coming down the driveway looking all skater boy and badass. “Hi, Zayn,” he greeted when the boy stopped in front of him.

Zayn looked him up and down, a cigarette in his mouth. He pulled it out and blew smoke into Harry’s face with an unimpressed look. “Goodbye, Harry,” he replied, getting into the front seat of the van.

“Are you okay?” Louis asked warily when he came back to Harry swatting what seemed to be air.

Harry paused in his arm movements and coughed. “Yes. Ready?”

Louis gave him a small smile before knocking on the roof of the van to signal that he was leaving. “You sure you’re okay, H?”

“I’m fine, Lou, let’s go.”

❧

“Okay, so what’s the matter?” Louis asked, glancing from the road to where Harry was scowling in the passenger seat.

“Would you focus on the road, Louis?” Harry responded instead, exasperated, because honestly? Safety was everything. And so what if Harry wasn’t okay – it wasn’t like he was pouting on purpose. His mouth just had a penchant for gravitational pull, and it wasn’t exactly helping that Louis had been more focused on poking Harry in the dimple than on the road until Harry had slapped away his hand.

“I am focused on the road. But you’re supposed to be taking my mind off of the performance tonight, remember? Calming my nerves and whatnot.”

Harry rolled his eyes. Tonight’s performance was all Louis would talk about. The term “nervous” wasn’t in his repertoire. “Why don’t you ask Zayn to calm your nerves?” he muttered, voice dropping so it was hardly audible over the radio.

“Huh?” Louis knitted his eyebrows and reached for the volume.

Trees whirled past them as they sped down the road, and Harry had no idea where they were. All he knew was that he felt simultaneously angry and empty and he didn’t know which emotion was worse. “Zayn. Your band mate. Your best friend.”

Louis looked over again, a soft chuckle falling from his mouth. He made to put a hand on Harry’s thigh, but Harry moved away. He puffed out a surprised laugh and pulled his hand back. “Aw, Haz –”

“It’s not funny,” Harry griped, pinching Louis’ bicep.

“I’m not laughing!” Louis held up his free hand to brush off Harry’s assault. “It’s just interesting that – actually, never mind. What did he say to you this time?”

This time. As if Harry just ran around crying about what Zayn Malik thought of him as a person. He dropped his feet and turned in his seat so that he was facing Louis. “He didn’t say anything! He doesn’t like me! Neither of them like me anymore. Why didn’t you tell me Liam moved out because of me?”

“What?” Louis spluttered. ”He didn’t move out because of you.”

“Yeah, whatever. And what about Zayn? He’s been acting like a dick towards me since we started dating. It’s like he’s jealous.”

The car went silent for a moment. “He’s not jealous.”

Harry lifted up an eyebrow. “Oh really?”

“Yes, really,” Louis replied, scratching his clean shaven jaw. “He’s just…protective.”

“Of _my boyfriend?”_

Louis shot him a side-eyed glare. “Of his _best friend._ Don’t worry about it; it’s just something he does.”

Right. As if Harry was just going to allow someone to influence his relationship. He wasn’t going through that again. “So…” he begun, feigning nonchalance, “do you two have a history that I don’t know about?”

Sighing, Louis dropped his hand back to the steering wheel. “Harry...can we not do this?”

Harry shrugged, a nonsensical hum vibrating up his throat. His gaze landed on the pack of cigarettes in the cup holder, and he held it in the palm of his hand, weighing it for a moment before tossing it out of his lowered window. “You didn’t answer my question.”

Louis stared at him for a very long and dangerous amount of time before he took the next exit. He drove the car into a rest stop and killed the engine. They sat in silence for a good seventy five seconds – Harry counted – before Louis turned to him with a blank expression. “What the fuck.”

“I’m not going to be that relationship you have before you realise how much you’re in love with Zayn. You’re not going to fucking use me, all right? You said you would tell me everything, Louis, so why aren’t you telling me about this?"

Louis patted his hands flat on his thighs, and maybe Harry shouldn’t have thrown out his fresh pack – now that he thinks about it, they do calm him down before a show. Oops. Louis sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Even if Zayn and I had a history, why would it matter now? Zayn isn’t – he doesn’t do sex. Like, he’s not attracted to anyone sexually.” He dropped his hand and sighed. “He’s…more attracted to aesthetics? I guess? Actually I assure you that’s all he’s attracted to. I promise.”

Harry waited until his eardrums weren’t rushing with the sound of blood and he could piece everything together. “He’s asexual?”

He sighed after Louis nodded, putting his head into his hands. He felt like a possessive dick, but he also felt relieved and a bit foolish, but mostly relieved. “You’re going to hate me, but, like, I’m kind of turned on right now.”

Louis let out a gust of air that was either of laughter or of shock. When Harry looked up, the expression on his boyfriend’s face was hinting at both. “What?”

Harry bit his lip sheepishly and reached for Louis’ wrists. He pulled him close and pressed his lips into the underside of his jawbone. “Your being mine,” he said, words vibrating into skin, “is the hottest thing right now.”

“You’re so weird.”

“But you like it.”

Louis’ giggles turned breathless when Harry bit down. “Love it actually.”

Harry pulled back and pressed his finger into the blooming bruise, watching in silent awe as Louis squirmed. It was hot, they were literally amongst a lot of vehicles that probably contained kids and families resting up from their travels, and Harry was thinking about having sex in the backseat of his boyfriend’s expensive car. It must have shown on his face because Louis raised an eyebrow before dipping in to suck Harry’s bottom lip into his mouth.

“You want to?” Louis asked into his mouth.

“Please?” And Harry was straight out begging, his hands finding their way to knock off Louis’ snapback and tug lightly at his hair.

Louis groaned and pulled back enough so that their mouths weren’t attached, and he looked to be weighing out the pros and cons. Harry waited patiently enough and beamed when Louis glanced at the time on his phone before giving a shrug. “We have time. Climb into the backseat.”

Harry couldn’t squeeze his small behind back there fast enough.

He landed on the seat with an ‘oof’, a seat buckle nudging him in the thigh a bit too hard, but he positioned himself on his back so that he wouldn’t bruise himself with car equipment. He wiggled out of his ripped jeans (why he wore them in July, no one knew).

Louis climbed in behind him, digging into the pockets on the back of the seats before muttering a ‘fuck’.

Harry propped himself up on his elbows. “Me. Please. Now.”

Louis’ eyes crinkled at his eagerness though his smile dropped quickly when he seemed to remember why he was so distraught in the first place. “I don’t have a condom on me, babe.”

Harry rolled his eyes. Leave it to a rock star to not remember to buy condoms. “Fortunately, I do,” he said, reaching down to his jeans and pulling out his wallet. “It’s lubey, or something,” he mentioned, tossing it.

“Nice,” Louis said, catching it.

“Louis, I swear to God…” Harry grumbled a few seconds later when he was still not sexed up.

“It’s slippery!”

Harry reached for it, ripping the entire packaging in his haste. “Shit,” he whispered, staring at the trash in his hands and wanting to bang his head on the window. So he did.

“Hey, come on,” Louis mollified, pulling Harry to his chest the third time he hit his head. “It’s okay.”

“No it’s not.” Harry said, not so sure he could ignore the flame in his stomach with Louis so close to him. He pulled at his shirt before lifting it off entirely, pressing his hot mouth to Louis’ even hotter skin. It was summer. He wanted ice cream. He wanted to be fucked. “Ugh. I can’t do this. We still have lube – come on.”

Louis didn’t pull away, but Harry could sense his hesitation. “But, babe, don’t we ne – ?”

“It’s fine,” Harry pacified quickly, bringing Louis’ wrist to his face and pressing his lips against his pulse. “We’ve done it without one before, remember?”

“You don’t need a condom to rim someone, Haz.”

Harry dropped his arm and frowned. He was not above whining, his vision whitening out at the edges. “Louis, please. We’ll borrow some from the boys once we get there, but I need you inside of me right now.”

And it wasn’t like Louis was protesting, especially not when Harry stuck his hand down his pants and kissed him hard, his resolve in between Harry’s teeth. “Okay,” he acquiesced, more to himself than anything.

“You sure?” Harry asked, nothing more than a breath into the other boy’s mouth.

Louis nodded and pushed him back, Harry’s moan amplified when his back hit the seat.

He didn’t complain about Zayn for the rest of the weekend.


	4. August - October

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> lots of throwing up. sorry.

○ August ○

Harry sat down on the porch step next to Niall, who balanced a beer between his knees. Their mums had thrown them a going away party which meant fancy alcohol and expensive gift cards from distant relatives. Harry was grateful for the money seeing how the two of them were going to be officially cut off as soon as the sun came up the next morning. (And, well, maybe not officially cut off, but surely leaving the nest.) It was scary, but exhilarating for the most part, if the butterflies in Harry’s stomach were anything to go by.

“I still need to pack,” Niall said, moving over until their sides were pressed together. “My dad said he’s sending down a rental truck at, like, six in the morning.”

“Well then you better start packing,” Harry replied even though he knew Niall would be up at three haphazardly shoving photography equipment into too small boxes. “I’m trying to get situated as soon as possible.”

Niall laughed, full and bright underneath a identical moon. “Whatever. Is your boyfriend back from Italy yet?”

“Mhm,” Harry said around a yawn. “He said he was going to come over, but then he fell asleep while we were on the phone, so. Perks of jet lag, I guess.” He leaned his head on Niall’s shoulder while the summer night air cooled his flushed face. For the past week he had been feeling warm in a way not associated with August heat, and his ankles had felt unusually taut. He rotated his feet now, lifting them up in front of him and falling back on his elbows, gravel pressing against his forearms. “I feel ill.”

Niall fluttered his hand around them in a dismissive manner. “There’s grass everywhere mate, just get it out.”

Opening his mouth to say that wasn't exactly what he meant, his stomach lurched suddenly, and he sat up, heaving.

“Gross,” Niall whispered, taking a swig from his bottle.

Harry wiped a hand across his mouth and let out a shudder before returning to his rightful spot on Niall’s shoulder. He was like his personal shoulder angel. Niall should be grateful. “You’re gross.”

“You have barf breath.” But Niall wasn’t pushing him away, probably because he had beer breath which was the same really. “I really should start packing though.”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed, and they both laughed when neither of them made to stand up, instead lying down so that their heads rested against the blades of grass. Like this, Harry could forget that his throat burned and that his stomach was up in flames. He closed his eyes to the dark sky and like this he could breathe.

❧

Harry collapsed face-down on the couch and let out a rib-shattering groan into the pale cushions. All the boxes were finally unpacked after an excruciating eleven hours; he was practically dead on his feet. Niall still had to unload his photography equipment and clothes since he had opted to make sure their living room television was functional…two hours ago. The boys were going to stop by in a few to scope out the new flat before their gig; though, as time passed, Harry wasn’t too sure he’d be able to attend this one.

“Why not?” Liam asked after arriving, disappointment apparent in those two words. Harry was surprised he wasn’t outright pouting.

Zayn was walking around the room with a takeaway box of Chinese in his hands, noodles hanging from his mouth. He hadn’t uttered a smart comment the entire time, so Harry was going to take that as a good thing, especially when the lad made an impressed grunt when he saw the night time view from the windows.

Louis was sitting beside Harry – who deliberately chose not to move – with his own takeaway container of chicken that made Harry’s stomach churn every time the breeze from the open window wafted the scent toward him.

“Because,” Harry started but paused when he received another sweet and sour chicken whiff, “because I just unpacked a lot of shit, Liam, and I’m exhausted. Maybe if I had some help…” He trailed off and scowled at everyone – especially the blond one – in the room.

He was pulled close in Louis’ apologetic embrace as Niall laughed and fixed his hair in front of the strategically placed mirror near the front door. “You’re the one who was so adamant about not having boxes lying around; if it were up to me, we would’ve unpacked throughout the week.”

Harry stuck out his tongue as Liam went to explain why he nor the boys could have helped earlier. Something about exec meetings, though Harry couldn’t care less because he was too busy trying not to puke up the three meals he had yet to eat. The sense of queasiness disappeared quickly enough – or at least Harry had assumed it was quick, but when he opened his eyes he hadn’t realised were shut, all questioning gazes were locked on him.

“You all right?” Louis asked, placing his food at his feet, eyes assessing.

“Peachy,” Harry affirmed - even added a thumbs up for good measure.

“Yeah, you look like one,” said Zayn, which Harry would have assumed to be an insult if it hadn’t caused the rest of the boys to nod and Harry to realise that his face did feel a bit flushed.

He shrugged it off however, making certain not to glance in the mirror by the front door. “It’s August and there’s only one window open; I apologise if I appear to be a bit overheated.” Glancing to his side, he noticed Louis still looking him over warily, which was unnecessary because Harry was fine, dammit.

“Maybe you should stay home,” Liam said, sounding just as cautious as everyone looked (besides Niall who simply looked ready to burst if he didn’t leave soon). And why was Liam deciding what Harry should and should not do? His tone made Harry raise an eyebrow and his skin itch with irritability.

“Actually, no – I’m definitely going,” he snapped before remembering that he truly did want to stay in, but by then it was too late to take it back. Niall was hooting in approval and Harry was already headed toward his room to change.

❧

The venue was nothing special, though it was a bit bigger than others which meant more room for more people.

The boys were on stage performing song number three, and Niall was fluttering about in the crowd with his camera, no doubt being offered free drinks when Harry found himself frantically searching for a toilet. He was shown one by an employee seconds before he was vomiting into his hand as he pushed a stall open with his free one. The bout of nausea lasted for two full minutes, and he had rinsed the sick off of him by five. He felt positively ill and, when he examined himself in the mirror, he looked it as well.

After breathing through his nose and washing out his mouth, he returned to the backstage area right as Niall rounded the corner with two drinks; though his face dropped the moment he saw the state Harry was in. “What’s the matter, Haz?” He set down his drinks and his camera and scooped his mate into a hug.

Harry pushed away not even five seconds in, feeling claustrophobic and turning his nose at the smell of alcohol and strangers’ sweat. He pinched the bridge of his nose to keep a newfound surge of sick down his throat. “I just threw up,” he said, seeing no reason to lie to the only person who could see through him.

“What—?” Niall began, but was interrupted by the team scrambling as the three boys exited the stage for intermission. Usually they wouldn’t have had time to talk but of course tonight Liam Payne had finished changing his shirt and grabbed a water bottle as he made his way over to the duo. He was buzzing with tangible adrenaline and his hair was flattened with perspiration, though his face also fell once he caught a glimpse of Harry – and what the fuck was that about, really? He didn’t remember looking that horrific – a bit pale, sure, but nothing that warranted fallen grins. Bit rude if you asked him. “Yo, you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he lied.

Niall clucked his tongue and turned toward Liam. “He was sick.”

“That’s a lie,” Harry lied. Again.

Liam still believed Niall anyhow, looking torn between fetching Louis and moving away so as not to catch whatever it was Harry had. Though before he was successful with either, the stage manager was calling him over to get ready to go back out.

When he started to head back, Harry grabbed his arm. “Please don’t tell Lou about this, all right?”

“All right.”

❧

Of course Liam did exactly that, the traitor.

“I’m fine, Louis. It was probably something I ate earlier.”

The equipment was being packed up into the vans, and the couple were leaning against a fence, Louis smoking and Harry sending Liam the nastiest glares he could muster.

Louis blew out a stream of smoke away from Harry and held the cigarette between his fingers. “Niall already told me you two haven’t had time to stock up the refrigerator, so…” he tucked it back into his mouth, “try another excuse.”

Harry huffed, but didn’t say anything else. Since when could Louis unravel Harry’s lies he didn’t know; he certainly didn’t like it, however.

He no longer felt as if his stomach was pushing its way up his oesophagus nor did Louis let him out of his sight when they went out. He stared at him behind a smoky veil with worried eyes and it would be equally endearing and frustrating if Harry wasn’t feeling as if he were suffocating inside his own skin.

Sometime later, he slipped outside the club while Louis was distracted with a fan, and promptly dry heaved, his body quivering when the episode was finished. He was hungry and exhausted and his lower back felt as if it were twisted into numerous knots just like the night before.

As he leaned against the cool brick to keep his breathing under control, Zayn stepped out of the building, immediately pulling out a lighter and a cigarette. He didn’t take notice of Harry until he was on his second one, hand faltering for a split second as he slipped the sky blue lighter back into his pocket. He eyed Harry all the while puffing out and inhaling. “You don’t look so well,” he said finally.

Harry sighed and lifted his gaze up to the starless night. “Thanks.”

Zayn finished his smoke in what must’ve been record time, and stepped cautiously toward the boy. “You’re not about to have, like, one of those attacks, are you? Because I reckon Lou is a bit too smashed to be of much help.”

Harry shook his head slowly, not looking away from the deep violet sky. “I’m okay.”

“So you keep saying.” Humming, Zayn opened his pack again, but instead of pulling out one cigarette, he pulled out two. He nudged Harry’s shoulder and offered him one. “You seem spooked, yeah?”

Muttering his thanks, Harry brought it up to his mouth before he gagged at the strong smell and butted it out against the brick. The fumes weren’t cooperating with his stomach and he honestly was too tired to start puking again. “Will you tell him I went home to get some sleep?”

“Sure.”

❧

When Harry woke up the next morning, his throat felt dry, but he rejoiced when his stomach didn’t immediately lurch. Must have been a 24-hour bug.

Niall wasn’t as convinced. He was wearing his ‘bullshit’ expression as he fixed some toast.

“What?” Harry asked as he swallowed a piece of his own crisp bread. Because that was all they possessed food-wise. One loaf of bread and teacups without tea. He fidgeted when all he got in response was Niall’s eyes narrowing.

Five minutes of chewing passed before the Irish boy opened his mouth. “We’re going to the shops,” he said, and walked out of the kitchen.

❧

Their cart filled up fast enough, all credit to Niall since Harry was occupied with the task of finding out what was eating at his best friend. One could only guess what junk had been picked up off the shelves. They were in the cereals aisle when Niall decided to acknowledge Harry’s existence.

“So,” he began, picking up a box of chocolate cereal and examining it nonchalantly, “why did you leave so early last night?”

Harry plucked the cereal from his hands and exchanged it for one with frosted oats. Why would anyone want to eat chocolate for breakfast? “I was tired.”

He was promptly ignored then, right up until checkout.

“Will you ring ‘em up? I forgot something.”

Harry had no clue what the boy could have possibly forgotten seeing how they had practically made it around the entire supermarket, but he rang up the groceries anyway. He didn’t see what Niall brought back until they were back at the flat and Harry was thanking the stars that there was a lift and he never had to worry about carrying a shitload of bags up to the top floor.

He was nearly finished putting away all the food when he saw it. “Uh…Horan?” he called, picking up the item and going to find Niall wherever he had fucked off to.

The lad was editing pictures on his laptop when Harry appeared in his doorway. His eyes flickered down to the box but he didn’t say anything.

Harry cleared his throat and juggled the cardboard between his hands. “Do you, like, wanna talk about something?”

“Do you?” Niall countered, sitting up on his mattress.

The blue container felt heavy in his hand so he continued tossing it. “Not unless you want to.”

“I do.”

Harry waited for him to elaborate, and was even more confused when he was met with a reciprocating open expression.

Apparently his bewilderment was evident on his face because Niall sighed, long-suffering, and held out his hands to catch the package. “Haz,” he began once Harry had sat down, “just to clear some shit up: one – yes, this is a male pregnancy test; two – no, I am absolutely not knocked up.”

Harry furrowed his eyebrows and pressed his back against the headboard. He really needed to get Louis to massage his back soon. “So…I don’t get it. You bought one to take a picture of?”

Now it was Niall’s turn to be confused. “What – no. The test isn’t for me at all.”

“Who is it for, then?”

Niall stared at him like he was insane.

Harry blinked. Then it clicked, but...that didn’t make sense. “For me?” Niall nodded. “Why?”

Niall rotated the box in his palms but never took his eyes off of Harry’s face. “Just as a precaution. You’ve been saying how much your lower body has been aching, and your lack of appetite, and then that whole vomiting thing yesterday.”

Harry shook his head. Niall was blowing this out of proportion. “It’s probably just the flu, mate.”

“Yeah? During the summer?”

“Not unheard of.”

“Right. And this flu just so happens to be non-contagious and have the symptoms of conception. Gotcha.”

Harry huffed. “Don’t patronise me.”

“Well don’t be stupid.” Niall pushed the box into Harry’s grasp. “Just take it, okay? To rule it out.”

❧

“I can’t look,” Harry said from where his hands were splayed across his face. He separated his fingers to peek at Niall’s reaction as the boy leaned over to pick up the stick. They were sitting in the kitchen, Niall on top of the counter and Harry on the floor. Peeing on the test was a feat in itself seeing as Niall had to force four cups of water down Harry’s throat, but waiting six minutes for the results…that was torture.

Niall looked at the test, then at the back of the box, then the test again before shrugging. “S’negative.”

Harry let go of his bated breath and bent forward to kiss the floor. “Really?” He caught the test when Niall tossed it down. Sure enough, there was only one dash. “Thank the fucking Lord.”

“Yes, thank the _fucking lord_ that decided to spare you from becoming knocked up.” Niall shook his head and hopped off the counter to look for food. He rummaged through the refrigerator for a bit before finding what he was looking for – the six pack. “Right. Well, probably a good thing you and Louis wore condoms the whole time, yeah?” he mentioned casually, grabbing a single beer before leaning against the closed fridge door.

Harry glanced up to see Niall’s raised eyebrow and flashed him a small grin. “Yup. A good thing.” It wasn’t a lie, he convinced himself, because technically Louis had worn condoms for every time they'd had sex…except…the last time. And twice before that. Nonetheless.

“Still a bit strange that you have all those symptoms but nothing to show for it.”

“I’m sure it’s nothing chicken broth can’t fix,” Harry hummed.

Shrugging, Niall pushed himself off of the door and retreated back to his room. “I guess pregnancy tests have final say.”

Immediately, Harry dropped his gaze back to the negative result. He remembered reading somewhere about how some indicators couldn’t register a pregnancy if it were still in the early stages. Gulping, Harry tossed the damned thing in the bin before picking himself off the floor.

○ September ○

The following week was probably not the best week of Harry’s life – to put it lightly.

For starters, whatever illness Harry was apparently suffering did not appear to be going away anytime soon. And while it was probably in his best interests to go and get checked out, school had started, and there was only so much multi-tasking a uni student could do. Between walking across campus several times to collect curricula and begging Niall to let him borrow the car so he could go buy art necessities, he really wasn’t thinking about swinging around the doctor’s office. Especially if they were only going to tell him that he was suffering from a late summer cold.

The good news was that Harry’s appetite had returned from war, though with a vengeance. More times than not, whatever he had eaten throughout the day would find its way inside the toilet bowl late that night, so perhaps his increased hunger wasn’t _quite_ good news.

Not to mention he was peeing every five minutes. Literally. He never spent so much time in restrooms in his entire life as he did those seven days.

It was Thursday night when he decided to take another pregnancy test. Niall hadn’t gotten off of work yet, and Louis was preparing to head over to America soon because the record label had finally assigned a date for the promotion tour and it just so happened to be in less than a month. Amazing.

Harry checked the time on his phone again as he tapped his feet against the cold bathroom tiles. He still had five minutes to wait, and his stomach was somersaulting with anticipation. And a bit of trepidation because if the last pregnancy test happened to be wrong…

For fuck’s sake, Louis was about to be in the _United States of America_ in less than four weeks and Harry was taking _pregnancy tests_ like his life could afford such a massive mishap. He had just started university, had just moved in with his best friend, and had just told Louis he loved him not even three months beforehand – he couldn’t be knocked up.

Swallowing harshly, Harry drummed his fingers on his thighs and glanced at his phone again. Three minutes. He wasn’t pregnant, the first test had confirmed such and this one was just affirming that Harry absolutely needed to make time to go to the doctor’s. The only reason he even considered the possibility of pregnancy was because Niall had put that idea in his head…bloody Niall Horan. What did he know besides his stupid Polaroid camera?

Two minutes. But…if Harry was pregnant, then he’d have to have an abortion, wouldn’t he? He was eighteen and he had made one reckless decision; there was no point in having a lifetime trophy because he was horny on a July morning. How would he tell Louis? _Oh, hey, I know you’re about to achieve your dream with your band, but I’m pregnant so you might want to give up on that dream._ How would he tell Anne? _Hi mum, remember a few months ago when you hadn’t even known what my boyfriend looked like? Well, we had unprotected sex, and now there’s going to be a little me running around here in a few months…Cheers!_

He wasn’t pregnant. Niall had clearly somehow gotten Harry to go on an acid trip, and this was just the aftermath. Something akin to morning sickness, swollen ankles, and a weak bladder. Thirty more seconds and he’d be able to prove it.

“Haz?” he heard Niall call from downstairs, but his alarm went off before he could answer. He tripped over his own feet for the stick perched on the sink and nearly fainted when he saw the results.

An absolute, undeniable, positive sign.

❧

It was a Wednesday morning when he decided to skip out on his earlier lectures due to a terrible bout of morning sickness. He was buried underneath several covers with a trash bin beside his mattress, ready to drift off into dreamland, and nearly had a heart attack when the front door swung open and a voice that was definitely not Niall’s called out. He had to calm his heart beat before he could distinguish that Not Niall’s Voice was in fact his mother’s falsetto.

“Mum?” he croaked, and fuck, he’d totally forgotten that he had told her to bring over the rest of his clothes whenever she had the time. Apparently, two weeks into the semester and seven o’clock in the morning on a weekday was Anne’s free time.

He heard her footsteps come up the stairs and her impressed intake of breath when she saw the wall length windows. “H?” her voice was in his room now, and Harry gave his stomach a stern talk about not spilling out the remainder of last night’s dinner before he threw off his pile of blankets and gave a smile that was far too wide for the time of day.

“Mother!”

Anne eyed him suspiciously, her hair falling in waves against her collar bones. For once she was not in business attire or one of her dress designs, but in actual casual wear – a plain tee and jeans. “Are you drunk?” She eyed the bin, and to be honest, Harry just might be.

“No,” Harry said, though his rough vocal cords weren’t doing any persuading on his part. “Just a bit sick. You brought my things?”

“Yes, they’re downstairs…you’re sick already? Flu season has hardly started.”

Harry shrugged and climbed out of bed to follow her back downstairs. “I was sick at the party, remember?” He knew she didn’t, that she was too busy talking to her co-workers and Robin to notice her son, but he digressed. It was three weeks ago, there wasn’t any need to be bitter.

Anne picked up a box of clothes and handed it to Harry, who screamed his agony silently into the cotton of his t-shirt. “Can’t say I recall, darling.”

Thirty minutes were spent with Harry giving his mother a tour of his new flat – the bedrooms, the guest room, the darkroom, the studio, and Niall’s shoe-closet. The next half hour, Anne sat on Harry’s bed tapping away at her screen – today was her off day, he had learned and promptly rolled his eyes at – while Harry folded all his clothes and placed them in his closet or drawers. He held up a sheer Yves Saint Laurent shirt – which he had no clue he possessed – and jumped out of his skin when Anne squealed in delight.

“You have to wear that to fashion week next February! Did I tell you that I got you and your sister tickets?”

Oh. Fun. Harry eyed the shirt wearily and his abdomen swam in disapproval. Nothing better than irony. “Uh,” he cleared his throat and pushed the shirt to the back of his closet. All the way to the back. “I don’t think I’ll be able to fit in it by then.”

He watched as Anne furrowed her eyebrows at the strange indication. “Why would you say that, darling?”

Harry shrugged and picked up another unrecognisable article of clothing. He didn’t even bother checking the label. He had to keep cool, calm, and collected, and although he hadn’t woken up planning to tell his mother that he was – _ahem_ – with child and not in the Virgin Mary way, there wasn’t a point in not telling her. Even when he wasn’t sure if he was still keeping it or not. But he had to tell someone, seeing how he had dumped all evidence of the second pregnancy test by the time Niall had made it upstairs to tell Harry about the new camera he’d bought.

“Because...there’s a good chance that…” he squeezed his eyes shut and rushed the final bit. “Imightbepregnant.”

When he opened his eyes back up, Anne was staring at him bewildered. Her phone was chirping with alerts but she ignored it. “Pardon me?”

Harry swallowed roughly and turned the fabric over in his hands. “I said…you might be a grandma soon. Surprise!” he tacked on with fake exuberance, and the look on his mother’s face probably meant that he should’ve left the exclamation off. Or not have opened his mouth at all.

❧

So it was out in the open with his mother – Harry was pregnant, and Anne couldn’t have taken it any better. Maybe she could have not stormed out of the house after staring blankly at Harry for a good five minutes. She also could have at least answered her phone the fifteenth time he had called her. But overall, she handled it way better than Harry had thought she would. He was still alive, of course, and that was a blessing in itself.

❧

Slumping down on the couch, Harry pulled his knees up to his chest and rested hischeek in the small gap between them. He stared with a blank expression out the window at the glittering lights of the city, a million white fires glaring back at him.

“Oh, hey, you’re back,” Niall said, appearing from the kitchen with a bowl. When he placed it on the coffee table, Harry could see from his periphery that it contained chocolate chips and banana slices. Sitting down on the same cushion, Niall immediately wrapped his arms around Harry’s wound frame, propping his chin on top of his head. “How’d it go?”

The doctor’s appointment went fine, his childhood physician only expressing mild surprise at his predicament before being a gem and informing him about looking for an OB-GYN and a lot of other stuff Harry zoned out of but was sure Anne had heard. Because his mother definitely had gone with him, had already scheduled the appointment the morning after he had told her. “She wants me to consider getting an abortion,” he whispered, turning to gauge Niall’s reaction.

The other boy stared at him for a moment before moving to pick up a chip. “Did she tell you why?” he asked, popping it into his mouth.

“Yes. Said it’s best with my just starting uni and the other father leaving, or something.” He hadn’t processed either of the things leaving his tongue, only rambling off the reasons his mum had said as she drove him home.

Niall let Harry snuggle into his chest, combing his fingers through his curls. “Let me know what you decide. You know I’ll support whatever choice you make.” And Harry didn’t doubt that for a moment; could cry at the memory of Niall finding him hunched over the toilet and hugging him silently as Harry’s body quivered.

Harry honestly just wanted to crawl into his bed and cry for a while and perhaps sleep for even longer. He sat up slowly, though, careful to not off set his nausea, and brought his feet to the floor. “I’m gonna go chill with Lou tonight.” He took a few slices out of the bowl and chewed slowly.  “I don't think I'm going to tell him though, not yet.”

When he looked over, Niall seemed to disagree but must have seen something in Harry’s expression to make him not object. “Do whatever you feel will work, curls. I love you.”

Harry’s lips tugged up at the sides as he stood up to go change. “Love you, blondie.”

❧

September might just be Harry’s favourite month with its nights that are neither humid nor biting. He pulled down his sweatshirt and slid his hand into the back pocket of Louis’ jeans while listening to him talk about the official date of the tour. Harry wasn’t actually hearing the words, rather content with simply hearing how excited Louis sounded; the lilt of his voice was full of warmth and happiness, and Harry was so, so in love.

The streetlights casted their shadows in front of them, and like this he could imagine his stomach rounding and his body stretching, and he had to grab at Louis’ arm to stop the world from spinning beneath him.

“You okay?”

Harry blinked a few times until the distorted image disappeared, and he tried to school his frightened expression before flashing a grin at Louis. “Yeah, um, just got a bit dizzy. I’m fine now.”

Louis didn’t look too convinced, his mouth settling into a worried frown as he brushed Harry’s hair out of his eyes. “Maybe you’re hungry? I mean, we just ate, but we can go get something else if – ”

Harry shook his head, horrified about how he had absent-mindedly eaten through two breadbaskets at the restaurant earlier. (And _yes,_ he had still been hungry, thanks for asking.) “No, I’m okay.”

For a moment Harry thought he had been figured out by the way Louis simply stared at him, but then Louis shrugged it off and opened his arms for Harry to settle into. “You’ll tell me if you start feeling worse, right?” he asked, pressing a kiss to Harry’s forehead as they started walking again.

“Mmm,” Harry hummed, dodging the question by asking Louis to continue talking about going to America.

○ October ○

“Do you think I’d be able to do it?” Harry asked, voice small, as he stared straight out the windshield at the clinic. Raindrops cautiously raced down the glass now that the thunderstorm had lightened up a bit. The sun wasn’t out though, and Niall didn’t believe in turning on the heater until the beginning of November.

Niall rubbed his eyes, his knees pressing into either side of the steering wheel; empty pastry package sitting on the seat in-between his thighs. Harry’s gaze flickered down to his own breakfast – a nibbled-on croissant and a lukewarm chai tea. It had been two hours since he had dragged Niall out of bed and if he hadn’t woken up that morning so distant from all things that weren’t the mini-universe growing inside of him, he’d feel terrible about it.

“I think,” Niall said, “that we’re already here basically camped out in the parking lot. However, whatever you decide to do, you have to be certain that it’s you who is doing the deciding, you know what I mean, H? Don’t make a choice because you created a situation in your head that involves Louis not loving you anymore.”

“I just don’t want to hold him back. You should have seen how excited he was to be going to America with the boys. He’s writing songs for their album, he can’t go anywhere without someone recognising him. It’s just. I can’t take that away from him.”

Niall nodded. “I get that. And you’re not going to hold him back, Harry. He’s going to know about the pregnancy eventually, whether it’ll be in seven months or seven years. It’s all up to you.”

In the end, it had taken Harry forty five additional minutes to rule out an abortion, and it hadn’t been because he couldn’t do it. He had already arrived at the clinic, like Niall said, and if he really wanted to, he could walk twelve metres to be inside the building. It was the fact that a major part of him genuinely did not want to have one. Yes, he was definitely terrified about what he had to face now that he was keeping it, and he still had no clue how he was going to tell Louis, but he did want to meet their baby. He was willing to take that risk.

❧

There were forty five minutes until Louis left for America, and Harry had yet to have the phrase “I’m pregnant” fall from his tongue. Not that Harry had seen much of his boyfriend since he dropped him off two hours ago, but now that all the luggage and instruments had been checked in, Des had permitted the three boys an hour to relax. That was fifteen minutes ago.

Harry pulled his jumper down over his torso and shivered when a chill passed through. He looked over at the adjacent wall where Liam was hugging a brown girl close and kissing her nose. Across the drop off lane were Zayn and a pale pink haired girl who was giggling as a cigarette hung from her lips. Harry had no clue where Louis was and he would be worried if he weren’t focused on trying not to convulse outside the building. The hormone pill his doctor had prescribed was making him break out in cold sweats, though it did help with the nausea. This was his usual time in the evening for puking though he didn’t feel like he was going to empty his insides on federal property. No, instead he felt like he was trembling like a recovering drug addict. Lovely.

He resisted the urge to press his hands to his newly-protruding tummy as his gaze wandered over to where a cab had pulled up. A lady with tired eyes sighed in relief as she hurried over to the car with a toddler on her hip. She kneeled to fold up the stroller while the little boy stood by her side and clung to her trousers. After she successfully popped the carrier into the trunk, the lady lifted up her son and blew a raspberry on his cheek and got into the car.

He was still staring when Louis walked out of the building and pulled him into a hug. Harry squeaked because he was sure all his bones were now broken, but he understood the reason for the strength. Louis had been texting him for the past week to hang out, but with all his coursework and trying to hide the fact that he was still barfing, Harry had ignored him like the plague. It was only because he was feeling guilty that he offered to drive Louis to the airport. Also because he had missed him like crazy and could hardly comprehend that he wouldn’t be seeing him until the end of December.

“You’re buzzing,” Harry commented. Louis’ skin was vibrating in a different way than Harry’s was, like he had poured red bull down his throat while simultaneously snorting pixie stix. However, knowing Louis meant that Harry knew the boy had done nothing of the sort and was filled with pure adrenaline and vivacity.

“I feel like we haven’t seen one another in a while,” Louis said into his shoulder. His voice wasn’t upset however, like he was stating a fact, and well.

Harry grinned and retracted himself before he had a chance to become light-headed. “I’m sorry,” he said, sitting down on the curb.

Louis followed suit and ran his fingers through Harry’s hair. “It’s all right. You’ve been sick, yeah? And you’ve got the whole university-attending going on, so it’s not a big deal.”

It was a big deal, though, wasn’t it? And perhaps Louis was too high on energy to notice, but Harry’s face dropped at the dismissal. Before he could say anything, however, Des came out of the glass doors looking equally intimidating and important, and he called for the boys to head inside. His eyes scanned over Harry, offering him a small smile that wasn’t returned.

Harry sighed and let Louis help him off the curb, wincing as his lower back gave a twinge. When they were inside and Harry glanced at his phone to see that there were a good twenty minutes left, he grabbed Louis’ elbow and flashed him a smile that could have classified as a grimace. “Can we speak for like two seconds?”

The look on Louis’ face was evidence that the smile had definitely classified as a grimace. “What’s wrong, love?”

“You only call me ‘love’ when you expect the worst,” Harry mentioned before letting out a huff of air and shaking out his curls. He didn’t know how he was going to say it, and from the way Liam and Zayn had stopped talking to Des to glance back to where Louis had stopped walking meant that Harry didn’t have long to figure it out. “You’re going to be gone for a while.” He waited for Louis to nod. “Do you think you’ll still love me afterwards?”

Louis blinked, his concerned expression relaxing into one of relief. He probably thought this was Harry being clingy. “Of course, babe, it’s only for less than four months. I don’t think that’s enough time to fall out of love with someone. Don’t worry your pretty mind, okay?”

Hesitating, Harry nodded once before biting his lip. He closed his eyes, grabbing Louis’ hand and held it under his jumper to his hardening lower stomach. When he opened his eyes a moment later, fingers still wrapped around the bone of Louis’ wrist, the other boy’s eyes were wide and filled with confusion.

“You’re…”

“Pregnant, yeah.” It still felt weird to say; still felt weighted behind his teeth like some sort of secret.

Fingers pressing gently against the stretched skin, Louis felt the start of a curve, and his eyes went from where his hand had disappeared to Harry’s face and back. “How far along are you?” he asked after clearing his throat.

“Thirteen weeks. So…a little over three months. Second trimester and stuff.” Harry swallowed and cast his eyes to the tiled floor. “Sorry for like…waiting to tell you. For a while I wasn’t sure what to do, like I just found out a few weeks ago.”

While Louis took all the information in, Zayn moved a hair out of his face from where he was standing a couple of metres away. “Lou, would you wrap up the love-fest and come on before we miss the bloody flight?” Liam looked over at them too before elbowing Zayn who rolled his eyes and let himself be pulled away.

When Louis turned back to Harry his mouth was opened to say something, but Harry gave him a grin and stepped back so that there were no longer warm fingers on his cold belly. “You should probably go before they come dragging you to your plane.”

Louis nodded, albeit cautiously, and on cue, Des shouted for him once more.


	5. October - November

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> complications.

“I bought you something, H!”

With the television muted, Harry moved his sketchbook aside and tucked his knees under him “What is it?” he asked sceptically. The last time Niall had bought him something it turned out to be illegal…and explosive.

Niall waltzed into the living room, hands behind his back as he stood in front of the couch. “Close your eyes.”

Hesitating for a moment – because he really did not feel like putting out another fire – Harry covered his eyes with his hands and huffed. “You know I don’t like surprises, tosser.”

“Yeah I know,” Niall mollified, before bringing his arms around and setting the gift in Harry’s lap. It wriggled, causing Harry to peek between his fingers and nearly fall off the couch. The furry creature blinked up at him with blue eyes and yelped as Niall chortled behind him. “Surprise!”

Harry grabbed at the puppy as it tried to escape onto the floor, and held it to his chest. It was small and had daisy coloured fur and what the fuck. “Did you steal him?” he asked cynically, scratching behind the dog’s ear.

Niall rolled his eyes but didn’t stop laughing, nudging Harry over so he could sit down on the cushion. “I absolutely bought her with my own money, thank you very much.” He glanced up from where he was rubbing the coat with a smirk and for fuck’s sake.

“Niall, I swear to god—”

“She’s not stolen, Harry! I promise.” Though he choked on some giggles, so his assurance wasn’t very convincing. He’d better be lucky the pomsky was fluffy and warm or he would be getting an earful from Harry about morals and shit. Niall watched as Harry lifted her up and cooed as she batted at his hand. “See, you’re happy already.”

Harry pouted and brought the puppy back to his lap. “I’ve been happy?” his voice tilted up with confusion, and if he was about to be lectured about—

“Really? Because you’ve been pretty mopey since Louis left.” Niall picked up the pet before she jumped onto the coffee table, and Harry rolled his eyes and lifted his sketchbook. “Don’t be mad at me, H,” Niall said when he noticed how hard Harry was shading, sharp point of the coloured pencil scraping against the paper. “I just hate seeing you all—”

“Depressed?” The word was spat out harshly and a rip was beginning to form.

Shaking his head, Niall reached to still Harry’s wrist with one hand while placing the puppy on the floor with the other. She instantly ran off toward the television, yapping and zig-zagging across the carpet. “I don’t,” Niall began, shaking his head again. “It’s not a bad thing if you are—”

“I’m not.”

“—but I just wish you’d talk to me about everything,” he continued, ignoring Harry’s interruption. He was staring at Harry the same way he did when they were twelve and Harry didn’t feel the same way about Elisabeth as he felt about, say, James. And Harry had cried and cried for hours because he was confused and scared and _you hate me now, don’t you, Ni? Of course not, Niall had responded, pressing his mouth gently to Harry’s tear-streaked cheeks. Just because you happen to like boys more than girls doesn’t make you any less of my best mate. You’re still Harry._

Harry snatched his wrist from Niall’s grasp but set his drawings on the table and directed his stare to his plaid pyjama bottoms. “I am talking to you.” He cleared his throat when he could feel Niall giving him a look. “There’s nothing to worry about – I’m okay about everything.”

Niall nodded slowly before whistling, the dog flopping happily back towards them. “She needs a name,” he said, diverting the subject smoothly and playing with her tiny paws. “A cool name, not a fruit like ‘cherry’ or ‘apricot’.”

Harry smiled and wordlessly thanked him for not pressing. Not that there was anything to press for because Harry was honestly fine. “I’m not good at the naming process, I mean you were there when I named Dusty.” Granted, it was because the cat’s fur was grey, but even he thought he could’ve done better.

Glancing down at the pomsky nibbling at his thumb, Niall hummed. “Well, she has some wicked eyes, so I was going to name her ‘Blue’ but I don’t think Beyoncé would be too thrilled about that.”

Harry giggled and lifted the puppy into his hands once again, holding her up to his face where she wasted no time licking his nose. “Her eyes are dope. Maybe ‘Arctic’ since they’re more frost than a regular blue?”

Niall held his hands up and shrugged. “Whatever you say, art boy.”

“Shut up,” Harry said, pressing a kiss to the little black nose. “Hiya Arctic. You’re a lovely girl, aren’t you? Yes you are.” He paused and glanced up when he heard his baby voice. Niall was already grinning at him, and Harry flipped him off before burying his nose into the dog’s fur.

❧

Harry pouted into his phone’s camera while Louis’ attention was focused off screen. The Rogue had finished their performance for a late night talk show less than an hour ago and had just arrived back to their hotel. It was fine, Louis didn’t have to facetime Harry before he had a chance to settle in, but since he had, Harry would appreciate it if he was his focus right now. “Lou,” he whined, rolling his eyes when Louis gestured for him to wait a moment.

When Louis finally turned back to the phone, dismissing everyone from his room, he sighed and leaned against his headboard. “You look exhausted.”

“I am,” Harry responded hotly. “It’s arse o’clock right now.”

Louis knitted his eyebrows at his tone. “It’s not like you have to be up, H, you can call me later.”

Harry ran a hand down his face and groaned. “No, I really can’t. You’ll call and I’ll either be in class or painting. I’ll call and you’ll be sleeping or in an interview.” He was aware of how clipped his voice was even when in theory their schedules weren’t that much of a burden. His mood had been spiralling for the past week though – no thanks to his constantly swollen ankles – and it was too much of an effort to plaster on a smile when he felt so bleh.

“Okay,” Louis said slowly as if he weren’t sure whether to tread lightly or ask what was up. (The last time he had asked, Harry had practically busted his eardrum by yelling that he was pregnant.) “Everything all right? You’ve been taking your pills?”

A mirthless laugh escaped from Harry as he thought about all the pills he wasn’t taking. He hadn’t been prescribed prenatal yet, because he didn’t have an official doctor, and he had stopped taking his anxiety pills because he was eighty five percent certain they weren’t safe for pregnant people. “Since when do you ask whether I’m taking my medication? You think I’m incapable of taking medicine just because you’re gone?”

An affronted look passed over Louis and he finally gave into Harry’s attitude. “What the fuck – why are you talking to me like that?”

Harry shrugged and pulled his legs closer so he could massage his ankles. His immediate response was to say that Louis was getting on his nerves, but he knew that if he’d said that, then he would have to explain, and honestly he didn’t have enough energy. “I don’t know.” Louis stared at him before letting out a bothered breath, causing Harry to wrinkle his nose at the sound, his skin itching with irritation. “What?” he spat.

“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong or are we going to do this dance all night?”

“What are you on –?”

Louis gave him a look. “Harry.”

“Louis.”

“I’m not doing this.”

“Doing what exactly?” Harry asked, his voice raising. “You’re not doing anything; you’re sitting in your fucking hotel room in whatever fucking state you’re in, and you know what? I don’t even care anymore! You’re not in London feeling like your fucking body is ripping itself apart! You’re not starving because your body won’t let you keep anything down for more than an hour! I’m doing this shit! I’m doing it all without you and you want to get mad at me for being pregnant?”

Louis blinked, and somewhere in Harry’s rant his own anger had appeared, his jaw set and a single eyebrow raised in disbelief. “I’m mad at you for being pregnant? Do you know how stupid that sounds?”

“No, but I bet you’re gonna inform me, huh?”

Louis shook his head, the camera shifting as he propped it up against something. “I’m not mad at you for being pregnant, H, how could I be? It’s my fault, too! I’m mad that you’ve given me the cold shoulder ever since I left, and you’re not telling me what I’ve done wrong.”

Harry scoffed and folded his arms over his chest. His nose burned with the sensation of tears and he blinked rapidly. “You left, Louis! That’s what you did wrong!”

“You act like I had a choice, Harry! I was ten minutes away from getting on a plane when you told me about the pregnancy. Did you expect me to give up on everything me and the boys have been dreaming about this entire time?”

“Obviously not.” He didn’t, honestly. He didn’t know what he expected, but certainly not like he wanted to die every time he woke up. “But by the time you’re back, I’ll be disgustingly huge and there’s a good chance you’ll be turned off and – ”

“Do you hear a word you’re saying or are you just talking out of your arse? What do you want from me exactly?”

Harry gaped, his pulse thumping wildly inside of his ears, and he wasn’t aware he was crying until he felt tears seeping through his pyjama trousers. He swallowed and wiped his cheeks roughly. “I want stability!” he yelled, not caring that he would probably wake up Niall or worse, their puppy. “I want someone who isn’t going to fuck off to bloody America when I need them!”

Louis’ rage deflated at that, his eyes shining with sympathy – and no, absolutely not. “I’m not leaving you, Haz,” he said, his voice soft, way too soft for an argument, so Harry dismissed it with a shrug before he could allow the words to sink in.

“Yeah, well, you can shove it because you’re not exactly proving anything.”

There was a fierce staring contest for a brief moment before Louis rolled his eyes and hung up.

The faintest of colours began to appear on the horizon, and while trying his hardest to focus on his breath intake, Harry felt himself breaking apart. A sharp pain soared through his abdomen when he positioned himself to lie down, though he fell into a fitful sleep before he could think any of it.   

❧

It had been four full days of white static from Louis and a guilt fest inside of Harry when he decided to get out of the house. After all, he had a new puppy who was hyper and tiny and demanded a walk around a park. The trees had fully transformed into autumn hues, and Harry cursed himself for not bringing his sketchbook along. The pocket of his pea coat began to vibrate, his breath hitching when he saw who it was.

He slid his thumb across the screen so fast the skin burned. “Lou? I’m so sorry about what I said – ”

“It’s Zayn.”

Harry glanced back down at the screen to make sure that it definitely was his boyfriend’s name on the screen. “Um…may I ask why you’re calling from…not your phone?”

“Oh. Well,” a mattress sprung in the background, and Zayn let out a puff of air as he fell on top of the bed. “Louis is right here actually, he’s just not speaking to you. He forgives you though, but that’s not why I’m calling you. My phone is on the charger back in my room and your baby’s father is about to get in the shower, so. Hello. Also, like, I’m sorry for being a dick lately? I mean, you’ve deserved it mostly, but when you didn’t deserve it – I’m sorry. ”

Eyebrows furrowing, Harry walked over to a bench and twisted Arctic’s lead around his wrist, keeping her from sniffing at a passer-by. “Come here, girl,” he coerced, clicking his tongue and picking her up when she ran to his feet.

“Uh…” Zayn said, and Harry rolled his eyes, unzipping his coat to rub at his stomach.

“I’m talking to my dog, clearly. So, like, is that it? You called from Lou’s phone to give me a shit apology?” It wasn’t shit, was actually kind of sweet, but Harry wouldn’t tell Zayn any of that.

Zayn chuckled anyhow. “Was it shit? My bad. I’m not used to apologising.”

Harry couldn’t say he was surprised. “All right, well if that’s it, I’m…hanging up.”

“Wait!” And only because Harry had never heard Zayn’s voice pitch higher than his usual impassiveness was why he brought his phone back to his ear.

“Waiting,” he huffed.

“Put me on the phone with the dog.”

“Oh, fuck you.”

Zayn laughed, straight into the receiver, before covering the mouthpiece to mutter a ‘alright, Lou, I’ll fucking tell him; go take your shower’. “So…you’re pregnant, right?” He continued when Harry didn’t respond. “Okay, well, remember how I told you about Brooklyn’s parents being doctors?”

It had been a while ago, but Harry remembered. “Faintly,” he responded, scratching Arctic on her belly. She really was the tiniest thing.

“Right, so her mum literally jumped at the opportunity to deliver your and Tommo’s baby when she found out that there was one. And since she is pretty much the greatest OB-GYN in London – ”

Harry hummed. “I doubt that, unless her mum is Caroline Watson.” When an interjection didn’t come, Harry’s eyes widened. “Wait…is her mum Caroline Watson?”

“Yes. If you would have let me finish, Kanye, you would have known that ten seconds earlier.”

“How did you set this up? With your fame powers?”

He could practically feel Zayn’s eye roll. “Her office isn’t exactly a VIP section at a club.” Though according to her exclusive list of patients, that statement was debatable. “We’re practically family. Also, I have a feeling you know nothing about how connections work.”

Harry shrugged. He knew enough. “Okay, but isn’t she, like, busy delivering celebrity babies? Why would she want to deliver mine?”

A long suffering sigh ran through the earpiece, the line crackling. “Oh my god, Harry, you are so…. Did you forget that the person who impregnated you is a celebrity?” Zayn sounded like he was pressing his face into a pillow which Harry knew was a sign that he was trying not to yell. Dramatic, really. “Unless, it isn’t his baby – ”

“Zayn, I will fight you – ”

“I’m kidding! Obviously. Maybe. In which case, your unborn child is a celebrity baby by default. No thanks to you. But she’s in if you are.”

“Um…yes, totally.” Harry couldn’t quite grasp everything that was happening, but part of that might have been due to his lack of medication. Regardless, he could grasp that Zayn, who had been and was the bane of existence, was being helpful, and Harry had a strange pull on his heart that he would absolutely not examine at all. He was careful not to jostle the now-slumbering pup in his lap as he moved to rub at his nose. “Thank you.”

There was silence, and then there was a small sigh. “Sure, Harry. Don’t mention it.”

○ November ○

The first time it happened, Harry jolted out of his sleep and immediately knew something was wrong. “Niall?” he cried at the top of his lungs as he felt something warm slide down the back of his legs. Terrified to move, he focused on his breathing as he heard the boy’s footsteps storm up the stairs.

“What?” Niall asked breathlessly, switching on the light and seeing Harry’s blanched expression staring back at him. He stepped into the room and immediately went over to the bed. “You okay?”

“Niall…take off the bedding yeah?” His voice trembled with each intake of air and his lungs were beginning to close up for longer and something was terribly, terribly wrong.

Confused, Niall reached for the sheet carefully and his eyes widened. Harry nearly passes out at his next words. “You’re bleeding, mate.”

Harry nodded once and counted to ten in his head. Bleeding, he was bleeding, there was blood and it was coming from his body and – “I need to go to the hospital. I need you to take me, please.” He was lifted immediately, maintaining his composure as he slipped on shoes and grabbed a windbreaker all the while keeping the path to the doorway as smooth as possible.

“You’re gonna be okay,” he heard Niall tell him the whole car ride while simultaneously helping to calm his breathing, and Harry didn’t find it too hard to believe him, to believe that he was going to be fine. He wasn’t hurting, he had no clue where the blood was even coming from though he could take a lucky guess. The question was whether or not thebaby would be all right.

❧

By the time the bleeding stopped, Harry was convinced that he had never seen so much of the colour red in his life. Also, he had Doctor Watson’s hands up his arse. Amazing.

Caroline flashed him a smile from between his spread thighs when their eyes met. “You can breathe now, Harry,” she said, pulling away and tossing all her destroyed supplies into the bin.

“Can I?” he asked while she washed and dried her hands. Obviously, things weren’t fatal because the doctor had visibly relaxed when she saw were the bleeding had come from. It hadn’t helped his anxiety seeing how fast he was admitted even though the waiting room was full, or the fact that he had bled during his pregnancy. That alone meant that something was wrong, didn’t it?

“Yes, you can.” Caroline took a pen out of her coat pocket and handed it to Harry. “Click,” she proposed when he seemed confused. Reaching behind her, she grabbed for her clipboard and scribbled something down with one of her other pens. “You were bleeding because of an anal fissure, not because you miscarried. I think that’s something to breathe about, don’t you?”

Harry let his head fall back, a wave a relief crashing throughout his body, his lungs feeling less like they were drowning. “Yeah,” he agreed, swallowing and dragging his gaze away from the ceiling. “So the baby is okay?”

Caroline nodded. “Probably didn’t even know what was going on.”

Propping himself up on his elbows, he winced as the bandage around his bottom dug into skin. “Anal fissure? What’s that?”

As Caroline swept her bangs to the side, Harry couldn’t help noticing how pretty she was, and how the photo Zayn had sent him didn’t do her justice. (Then again, the photo was a selfie of the two at a Christmas party, both of them plastered. Not to mention that he had used one of his stupid filters.) “Your bum tore – essentially.”

For a moment, all Harry could do was blink, lost for words. “Oh. That sounds…painful.”

“It’s your arse, you tell me,” she joked, smiling when Harry let out a surprised chortle. “With male pregnancies,” she continued, “the body either expands naturally or, in your case, needs artificial assistance. Nothing wrong with that, and it’s why I’m starting you on hormones.”

Harry’s eyes widened. “What – so like I’ll grow boobs? Not that – like – boobs are gross, b-but – ”

The doctor patted his arm, an amused tilt to her lips. “No boobs, I promise. But you will have elevated levels of HCG, meaning you’ll experience side effects; some typical ones being swelling, mood swings, food cravings, etcetera. Nothing unusual for a second trimester.” She stood up, taking the pen back when Harry offered it to her. “I’ll be back with the shot.”

His pulse quickened at the last word, but she was already closing the door behind her before he could say anything. Not that there was anything he could do, he thought as he laid his head back down.

There was a knock on the door not that long after, and a nurse peeked her head in with a sheepish grin. “Hi, sorry Mr. Styles, but, um, someone really wants to see you.”

It took a moment for Harry to remember that “Mr. Styles” was him and to also remember that he had left a frantic Irish boy in the waiting room over an hour ago.

He laughed and nodded his permission, getting an armful of Niall less than ten seconds later.

“Oh my god, you’re okay – are you okay?”

“Yes,” Harry assured him from where their cheeks were smushed together.

“Do you know how long I’ve been waiting to hear that shit? People are filling the air with their infections out there, H! I’ve been contaminated via hospital!” Niall took a big inhale then, seemingly finished with everything he had wanted to say. He straightened up and held Harry at arm’s length. “Nice dress, babe.”

The paper gown rustled as Harry shoved him away just to pull him back in for a proper embrace.

❧

Caroline returned with an injection tray, a nurse rolling in ultrasound equipment behind her. “Hello, Niall,” she greeted, setting down the tray and sliding on a new pair of gloves.

“Hey, Big C,” Niall said jovially, and honestly Harry wasn’t surprised.

That didn’t stop him from wondering, though. “Let me guess – you two run in the same circles?”

Niall snorted while Caroline smiled, flicking the needle. Which was definitely huge and definitely faint-worthy. “He did Brooklyn’s fifth and sixth birthday photo-shoots,” she informed, sitting down on the stool and wiping Harry’s arm with alcohol.

“Yep, that’s how I met Zayn,” Niall added offhandedly. His attention was captured by the machine being plugged up, so he didn’t notice Harry’s death glare. And Harry was too busy death-glaring to remember that he was seconds away from being stabbed, wincing as the needle pushed through his skin. “Ouch,” he gritted, blinking against the wetness forming in his eyes.

“All done!” Caroline chirped, sticking a plaster onto his bicep gently. “I’ll let you get dressed and then we’ll do the ultrasound.”

His arm was burning as he pulled on his shirt, a dull fire but still a fire all the same. “It feels like she injected gasoline into me.”

Kneeling, Niall rolled his eyes and he helped Harry into his spare pair of jeans since his pyjamas were ruined, careful around the bandage. “You’re so dramatic. Also,” he added, giving up on the zipper with a huff as it slid down for the third time, “you need to go shopping. For, like, paternity clothes.”

Harry frowned down at his stomach. He still wasn’t showing, but he definitely couldn’t fit into anything that wasn't sweats lately. “Piss off,” he yawned, sitting back down on the table carefully. “Can you believe my bum ripped?”

“I can actually.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Harry groaned, crumbling his gown into a ball and chucking it at Niall’s face.

❧

They left the hospital not too long after, Niall dropping into a deep sleep as soon as he sat down in the passenger seat. Harry didn’t mind, because it meant that he didn’t have to turn on the radio nor did he have to actually start driving anytime soon. The keys glistened against his denim lap as he pulled out the sonogram from its envelope, the seven am sun providing enough light.

He ran his fingers across the 3D features: over the nose and cheeks and eyelids, and his mouth twitched upwards at how their thumb-sucking had been captured. He sighed, chest clenching as he scrambled for his phone, pressing on Louis’ contact before he could overthink it. “Pick up, pick up, pick up,” he chanted, biting on the side of his thumb. When it went to voicemail, he hit his palms against the steering wheel in frustration and cursed. He couldn’t do this alone – he couldn’t do any of this alone: the breathing, the responsibility that came along with a baby – his baby – _their_ baby.

Harry pressed his lips together to keep from waking Niall as his sobs racked through his body, bringing up his knees and resting them on either side of the wheel. He pressed the key into his thumb, felt the ridges of metal on his skin and it was grounding, if a little.

He was going to be a dad.

He was going to give birth to a tiny human in a less than five months.

Sucking in a shaky breath, Harry dialled again. Louis answered on the fifth ring but he didn’t have a chance to get out a greeting before Harry’s sobbing filled the line. Harry was a mess, but even he knew he had put on a brave face for so long.

Louis had to have known this too, because he let Harry get it all out before he said anything. He was good at that: waiting out Harry’s emotional storm. Harry missed him madly.

“We’re having a baby,” Harry finally said, his voice wrecked from tears. It was weird to say because he had hardly let himself think it even when the proof was standing in the mirror every morning. Tonight though, when he’d thought he had lost the world growing inside of him, it made him realise that there was a world growing inside of him. A sixteen week old universe. It scared him.

“We are,” Louis said, his own voice raspy from sleep. “Are you all right?” he asked softly.

Harry sniffed and tugged at a fray from the hole of his knee. He had no clue how to answer that, not truthfully anyway. “Do you think we’ll be good parents?” he asked instead.

Louis hummed and Harry pictured him rubbing at his eyes tiredly. “I want us to be, yeah.”

“Even though I’m messed up?” And his voice cracked not even halfway through, his eyes swelling up.

There was a moment where Louis seemed to be assessing the situation, because it wasn’t fair, and Harry knew that. It wasn’t fair that he was asking when there was a sea between them. He had an apology on his lips when Louis spoke up. “Haz, I don’t know what’s wrong, but I’m happy you’re calling me, love. You don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to, okay?”

Harry’s chest didn’t loosen up at this reassurance and he didn’t like how it felt as if Louis was giving him a pass. He did want to tell Louis everything, he just couldn’t find the words. They would rise to the surface like red hot bubbles, bursting every time he went to push his tongue too hard. “Okay,” he agreed anyhow, because there was a beat reserved for his answer.

“I don’t think you’re messed up, Harry,” Louis continued, “but you do, and I get that. And even if you happen to be messed up – who cares? I’m in love with you regardless; you’re still wonderful regardless. You’ll still be a great dad, H, at the end of the day.”

And even though Harry knew Louis couldn’t see, he nodded. “I love you so much,” he croaked, feeling a bit ridiculous that he just had a breakdown in a hospital parking garage. His hand found its way under his shirt to dance along the curve and he swallowed roughly. “I wish you were here. Like, I know you’re having fun touring, but I still miss you.”

Louis stifled a yawn and Harry remembered how late it was over there. “I miss you, too. I’ll be home soon.”

❧

Three weeks had passed since the scare – twenty one days of Harry curling in on himself at night and smiling during the day. People had begun to notice the swell under his sweatshirts and he was stopped more times than he could count to be congratulated. He didn’t miss the lingering judgement in his professors’ eyes or the pure curiosity from strangers on the bus. He had been numb for the most part, going to class, doing homework, then falling asleep. He had fallen into a routine: painting whenever his fingers itched and afterwards he would stare at the canvas while he shoved his prescribed prenatal and anxiety pills into his mouth.

It was only until today that Niall had coerced him into going somewhere that wasn’t a class.

“I’m probably going to barf,” Harry noted, feeling a bit dizzy with every step. It was one hundred percent side effect – the loss of balance – but it didn’t help his nausea when his vision went topsy-turvy.

“Okay, please don’t,”Niall responded, letting him hold onto his arm as he held open the door to the store. A man exiting with a stroller full of two identical toddlers gave them a grateful nod, and _thank God_ Harry wasn’t having twins. “I thought you said your morning sickness had stopped.”

“Yeah, well I lied,” Harry huffed, stepping into the store. It wasn’t the smartest idea to go shopping for paternity clothes so soon after the scare, Harry knew this. He was still numb mostly, not even having enough energy to cry. A part of him was scared and a part of him was hopelessly grateful that his baby was okay – that his body was stupid but his baby was okay and growing and healthy.

“Hey, H, look.” Niall held up a pair of jeans with an elastic waist that Harry immediately wrinkled his nose at. His bump might be showing more and more everyday (thanks, hormones), but he was absolutely not going to wear those.

“I would walk around in only my pants before I bought those.”

Niall rolled his eyes and placed the denim into the trolley. “Then consider it a gift.” He went farther down the aisle and Harry huffed before following.

“I don’t need a whole new wardrobe,” Harry said, watching with disdain at the armful of shirts Niall was holding. They weren’t even here for shirts.

Niall dropped the pile on top of the mountain of jeans, and at this point they were going to need a second trolley. “You’ll thank me later,” he said, all sage-like before moving on to the baby clothes.

It was overwhelming, all the cotton candy blue and strawberry milk pink. “You know,” Harry said, brushing his hand across tiny bomber and paisley jean jackets, “we haven’t actually had best mate time in forever.”

Niall held up a pair of baby ballet slippers and snorted. “And whose fault is that exactly?”

“I know, but like I thought we would see each other more since we live together.” Harry stopped at a nautical blue and white onesie and looked over his shoulder.

Niall simply responded with a nonchalant shrug. “Maybe moving in together meant moving out of each other’s arses.”

Harry wrinkled his nose at the metal image and turned back to the garment. “Poetic.”

“Thanks,” Niall said, moving closer to see what Harry was staring at. “But really, it’s not a big deal. We have school, work, and you’re pregnant – it’s life. I’ll keep buying the groceries and you keep cooking and we’ll be fine.” He plucked the garment from Harry’s hands and held it up to his chest, his eyebrows raised in a silent question.

Raking a hand through his curls, Harry smiled sheepishly. “It has an anchor on it,” he offered, knowing that he was being asked about the colour. He wouldn’t know the sex for at least another month but for the past few days he dreamt about holding a baby boy, so. He began to tell Niall that when he was hit with the realisation that _fuck, he was going to be a dad soon._

Which was weird – and shouldn’t have his chest aching – because _obviously_ he was going to be a dad, but once he learned the sex then he would be a _dad-to-be_.

“Are you crying?” Niall asked, glancing away from where he was taking a photo of the outfit. Not waiting for an answer, he tucked away his phone and wrapped his arms around him.

“Sorry,” Harry laughed wetly into his shoulder. They must have looked like weirdos from the way they were hugging in the middle of the baby section. Either that or sentimental losers. Both, probably. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

Niall held him close, almost as if he were trying to squeeze out the sadness – and wouldn’t that be nice: to be hugged into happiness? “It’s all right; no one knows anything anymore especially not about themselves. You’re doing fine. Just breathe.”

It must have taken a while for Harry to stop crying because when he pulled back, he felt lighter if only a little bit. Like he had reached his emotional limit for the day, which – _thank God_.

“Thank you,” he said, reminded of all the times when their positions had been reversed.

Niall seemed to remember, too, rolling his eyes and wiping Harry’s cheeks. “Anytime, H. We should probably go check out now; all the employees are giving us strange looks.”

Harry looked in the direction Niall had lifted his chin to where an older woman was folding clothes, her eyes narrowing when Niall lifted his hand in a wave. Harry pushed his hand down and laughed. “I really want some pickles,” he said, pushing the trolley to the front of the store.

“Fried?” Niall called after him.

“Obviously.”


	6. December - March

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a little more complications.

○ December ○

“You really don’t have to do any of this,” Harry said as he sat on top of the counter, one hand cradling his stomach while the other flipped through a nursery magazine. He wasn’t actually looking for colours or themes anymore – he and Louis finally decided on an orange and red nautical theme of sorts. And by “finally decided,” it was more that Louis finally acquiesced to Harry’s constant begging.

The band had returned from America a week prior, unshaved and possibly unshowered. Niall had offered to pick them up from the airport so Harry could rest up, resulting in three boys thundering into the flat at six in the morning, each wanting to get a look at the now prominent roundness in person – even Zayn, who admired from a distance, resembling a grouchy kitten while Liam and Louis pawed at Harry’s stomach.

Liam buzzed with noticeable energy the entire time and, when Harry had hardly finished his question of _what’s got you all excited_ , he practically burst with the news of their annual winter hols party which now included the (no longer a surprise) baby shower. (Liam had then received a great elbowing from Louis and a terrifying scowl from Zayn. Niall had simply laughed before going back to his room to sleep.)

The party was planned for halfway between Christmas and New Year’s, so that their friends could make it back from their families in time. Also, Harry wouldn’t know the sex of the baby until two days beforehand – which happened to be today.

The flat smelled of gingerbread and eggnog, and normally that would upset Harry’s stomach, but today appeared to be different – baby seemed to be in the post-Christmas spirit. Harry was also gifted with an end to his morning sickness and he couldn’t stop thanking the heavens for that.

The boys had gone their separate ways early Christmas morning after celebrating Louis’ birthday the previous night and anticipated returning the next day. Louis and Harry had come back from Doncaster the night before, a quick hi and bye which actually wasn’t quick at all. They had spent most of the day chitchatting with the Tomlinson-Deakin family, Harry charming the pants off of Jay and Dan while the plethora of siblings charmed him in return. Louis’ family were definitely on the rowdy side, though Harry didn’t mind, having been around Louis and his posse for nearly a year. The family kept asking to rub the bump, especially the tiniest ones whose hands were sticky and warm, and they were all so lovely; all so starkly different than his own family, and he felt a bit sad that he and Louis couldn’t have stayed a while longer, but he had rescheduled his six month visit so the sex was found out when Louis was back home. He rang up Anne on the way back, listening to her stories of what she and Gemma were getting up to in Australia - because that’s where they went for Christmas. Harry wasn’t bitter.

He woke up the next day to Liam being in his flat, having decided to come back a day early to start preparations. Louis hadn’t seemed too fazed that his flatmate was in his other flat so early; in fact, Harry wasn’t quite sure that Louis was fully awake, mumbling blearily while making his tea before trudging back to bed. So that’s the reason Harry was sat on his kitchen counter watching Liam flit around with a phone pressed to his ear while gingerbread toast baked in the oven.

“Of course I do, H, don’t be silly. You’re having my best mate’s baby which basically makes you my best mate, and I only do the best for my mates.” Liam typed something on his keyboard smoothly. Tap, tap, tap.

“I appreciate your logic”—though it hadn’t made much sense to Harry—“but I don’t want to cause you any trouble. I’d be happy with a cake and, like, some new ankles.” He twirled his swollen feet in punctuation.

Liam snorted and shook his head but didn’t respond. He was worse than Niall, who at least had the decency to feign modesty.

❧

“Okay, how about Wolf? Short for Wolverine.”

Harry snorted from where he was sat between Louis' thighs and took a bite of his rainbow cake. “That’s beautiful, Liam. Really.” It was around eleven at night and all five boys were sat on the floor of Zayn and Louis’ living room. It had been two hours since the baby shower had ended. Blue and silver decorations littered the house and the gifts filled up three full tables; nappies and outfits piled on top of one another. Harry was aware that he should be packing everything in the boot, but he preferred to remain idle. Niall didn't appear to desire springing into action either; his head rested on Zayn's shoulder. Harry wasn't going anywhere until he finished the leftover cake.

Louis tilted Harry’s head to the side, continuing the three-strand pattern. “We can name him Hulk so his name starts with an ‘H’.”

“You all are dorks,” Harry giggled, wrapping his arms around his belly. The baby shifted in response to his timbre, finding a spot underneath his ribcage. He picked up a loose strand of silver tinsel and wrapped it around his index finger. He blinked tears out of his eyes as he felt a sudden surge of affection. “But thanks…for doing this for me. I honestly appreciate it a lot.”

The boys cooed at him and Harry flicked them off as Louis hugged him from behind. “Of course, baby,” Louis said, pressing his lips to Harry’s cheek. “We’d do anything for you.”

Liam nodded and patted Harry’s ankle. “Yeah, we love you, H. Didn’t you know?”

Niall lifted his head from Zayn and crawled over to hug Harry. “I love you the most, though.” He stuck his tongue out at Louis while cradling Harry’s head to his chest.

“Obviously,” Harry said into his shirt before pushing off and looking at Zayn. “Do you love me, too?”

Zayn rolled his eyes but cracked a smile at Harry’s pout. “You’re tolerable.”

○ January ○

Harry was running late to work. Actually running into the building which was something he probably shouldn’t have been doing but could now that his morning sickness had subsided. He wasn’t even supposed to be called in, but apparently the replacement teacher was out sick and Harry was late. He was going to push Louis off a curb for driving like he was the offspring of a sloth. Louis wasn’t all skin and bones like Niall, but Harry could manage throwing him.

Taking in a deep breath so he didn’t appear majorly out of breath, Harry pushed open the door and froze. The replacement teacher was, in fact, present and healthy and –

“Surprise!” He slapped a hand over his mouth when a mob of thirteen children sprung up from behind their seats. His gaze travelled up to the banner hanging from the ceiling. ‘Congratulations Harry!!!’ it read in cursive (though the first and second attempts had been crossed out).

“Guys!” he said, choking up as he was engulfed by a swarm of students. When he looked up, he caught Louis’ gaze from where he stood in the doorway and stuck out his tongue because he had totally been in on this.

Brooklyn escaped from the horde to grab a silver bag from the nearest table. She cleared her throat until all her classmates stood back, smiling innocently when she was the last one standing in front of a crouched Harry. “Hi, H,” she greeted, sweet as ever.

“Hello, Queen B,” he replied back with a smile.

She giggled as she curtsied and handed him the gift bag. “We made you something that one time you were too sick to come in.”

Harry straightened up and reached into the bag. His knuckles brushed against soft, cotton material, and he gasped when he pulled out a onesie decorated in colourful handprints. And, yep, those were definitely tears. “Why are you guys so dope?”

“Because,” Brooklyn said, jumping into Louis’ arms, “our teacher is dope.”

And Harry couldn’t argue with a seven year old’s logic, could he?

❧

“We still don’t have a name for him.”

Harry glanced away from his textbook to where Louis was kneeling in front of him, paint brush in his hand. His glasses were perched on his nose and his tongue was between his teeth as he concentrated on the tree he was depicting on Harry’s burgeoning bump.

“’Baby Tommo’ seems to be a hit with the lads,” Louis responded, distracted, dabbling in the green paint.

Snorting, Harry folded the corner of his current page and shut the book before placing it on the arm of the couch. The record player was spinning on top of the coffee table, having been left out the night prior by Zayn who had tried to learn the chords by ear to Prince’s Purple Rain. (“It’s authentic when it’s not digital, arsehole,” he had responded after Harry had asked – nicely – what exactly was his purpose.) Summertime by Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong filled the living room in lilts and trumpets, and their baby boy stretched under Harry’s rib. “They’re lame though,” he said, resting his hands on top of his stomach. “Will you go get me a snack?”

“Grapes?” Louis asked, handing over the tool and standing up. He had a smirk on his face, because he knew Harry wanted nothing less than fruit.

“Please?” Harry huffed, and Louis bent down to plant a kiss on his puffed out lips.

When he came back into the room, bowl of grapes in hand, he was singing along with Ella, his voice harmonising effortlessly with hers. The baby gave a succession of kick to the side of Harry’s stomach, and when Harry’s hand fell to where the flutters were, he gasped. “Lou – come here!” He grabbed the boy’s wrist when he was in proximity and replaced his own hand with Louis’.  Everything was motionless, and after twenty full seconds of nothing and Louis’ eyebrow raise, Harry’s own brows knitted in confusion. He was certain he had felt movements on the outside of his body this time.

“I – ” He closed his mouth abruptly and thought back to how he had read about babies responding to the other parent’s voice around the end of the second trimester. “Sing the end of that line again – the one that has the word ‘baby’ in it.” He had green and brown paint on his hands from where he smudged the image in his haste. It was just that Harry had never felt the baby move from the outside, and even when he had moved, it was usually quite late at night when Harry was trying to sleep.

Louis kept his hand in place and sang the line again. _So hush, little baby, don’t you cry._ Harry’s tummy bulged once more – a series of soft patters underneath his palm. “What –?” he gasped, looking up at Harry with wide eyes.

Harry’s face split into a smile when the baby kept kicking and Louis’ eyes glittered with tears. “The hell?” he supplied, letting out a wet giggle of his own.

Louis nodded, chewing on his bottom lip briefly before he rested his forehead against Harry’s belly and started crying. The sentiment was disconcerting, if only momentarily, because Harry had never really seen Louis break down before; however, as Harry combed his fingers through Louis’ hair as the boy trembled against his skin, he realised that he needed to let him get it out – whatever the emotion was.

“Lou?” he murmured a while later after the tears had let up to simple sniffles. Louis lifted his head and the paint residue on his face cased a fond smile to make a home on Harry’s lips. “Come here, bug,” Harry said, spreading his arms and shifting down the cushion to make room.

Once Louis was situated, he let out a wet, shuddering breath against Harry’s shoulder blade and collarbone. “Everything’s so real,” Louis muttered, intertwining his fingers with Harry’s.

Harry hummed and ran his free hand along Louis’ arm, “Are you scared?” he asked, voice coming out as a shaky whisper. He didn’t know if he could handle Louis’ being afraid, too.

There was silence besides the next song on the record, and Louis pressed his lips to Harry’s exposed skin in a light touch. He leaned back enough so that he could see Harry’s face. “No.”

❧

They decide to name their baby Ellis Fitz when they’re washing the colours off in the shower later and he imprints Harry’s skin when Louis sang another Ella Fitzgerald song.

“It’s appropriate,” Louis said, holding open the towel for Harry to step into. “My mum named me after Armstrong.”

Harry shivered at the change of temperature and wrapped his goose fleshed arms around Louis’ neck. “Really?”

Louis shrugged. “Probably.”

Giggling, Harry bit at his boyfriend’s earlobe. “Tosser.”

○ February ○

“Do you need the instructions?” Harry asked, the pamphlet unfolded in his hands. majority of the online chats said that thirty weeks was a tad late to begin setting up the nursery, but Harry hadn’t felt up to doing anything after his last hormone shot, and today happened to be the day where he had not woken up with the feeling of being stretched around a watermelon. Today also happened to be one of Louis’ free days, so thirty weeks it was.

He had painted the room the day after the baby shower – the four walls a gradient of yellow and orange and pink, and the ceiling a dark blue sprinkled with small white dots and minimal swirls. Louis was sat on the wooden floor, skin radiant against the soft sunset walls. He had taken out the wooden frames of the cot and was currently popping the bubble wrap. “Nah, I don’t need them. How difficult can it be to put up a bed?”

Apparently _very_ difficult.

Harry had finished folding all the onesies and socks and hats and had placed them in their respective drawers before the frame had been put together. He stopped from where he was hanging up the star-filled foam letters on the wall when he heard a violent string of profanities echo around the room. “Love,” he placated, biting down a grin at Louis’ grumpy form. “Are you sure you don’t want the directions?”

Louis sighed as he set down the screwdriver and held out his hand. When Harry gave the paper to him, he muttered his thanks before ripping it in half.

Harry let out a surprised chortle. “What are you doing?”

“I don’t need them.”

“Okay, well, that was a little dramatic.”

“I got this, Haz. Now go string up fairy lights or whatever.”

After all was said and done, the cot was built before the sun had gone down and after all the gifts from the shower had found a home, and Harry had arranged the nappy boxes into a fort…twice.

Sometime later, Niall came home with Arctic from the vet, and he made a sound of approval when he saw the nursery’s transformation. “This looks crazy good you guys.” He wiggled a bar of the bed. “How durable is this?” he asked nonchalantly.

Louis bristled anyhow. “I don’t know; why?”

“What he means is, he doesn’t know because he tore up the bloody instructions,” Harry corrected, picking up the puppy at his feet.

“Well there’s only one way to find out,” Niall said before climbing into the cot. He sat in it for a full minute before there was a pop and something flew and hit the wall. “See?”

“Oh.”

Harry massaged his temples and thanked his stars that he had bought a bassinet for the baby to sleep in for the first few months. Holding up his hand when Louis started to apologise, he muttered a simple, “Fix it” before jostling Arctic in his arms and leaving the room.

“Love you!” he heard Louis call out before a muttered, “Dammit, Niall.”

○ March ○

The second time it happened, Harry had just gotten out of his last class of the day. Walking into an empty toilet, he put a hand to his belly and winced at the slight pain. As he entered a stall and pulled down his pants he gasped when he saw blood, suddenly thinking of how he had been too focused on studying for his fine art test that he hadn’t noticed not feeling Ellis move as much as usual the night before and not at all today.

He pulled out his phone to text Louis to meet him at the hospital and Niall to pick him up before dialling Caroline’s number with trembling hands. By the time she picked up on the fourth ring, he was a blubbering mess, cradling his bump with his free arm.

“Hi, Harry, what’s wrong?”

“There’s blood…and that’s not supposed to be happening, right? Like, I shouldn’t be bleeding this badly.” His chest was rising and falling and he knew that he should be using his lungs, but they were full of cotton, and he was fucking _bleeding_ again. He couldn’t breathe even after that was exactly what his doctor asked him to do as well as meet her at the hospital as soon as possible.

❧

“Well, it appears your cervical OS isn’t open, which is very good,” Caroline said, putting away the probe and wiping the green jelly off of Harry’s stomach. “And your lab results came back normal, so we can safely label this as a threatened miscarriage.”

Harry blanched at that word and felt Louis stiffen beside him. “What caused it?” Harry asked shakily, hands immediately falling to his stomach once the doctor rolls her chair away. He still felt full, but didn’t know what all of this meant for Ellis.

Caroline snapped off her gloves and tossed them in the bin. “When I lowered the dosage of HCG last week at your appointment so your body could start preparing for labour, apparently for your stomach muscles that meant something was wrong with the pregnancy; thus, the cause of the mild cramping you were feeling.”

Feeling faint, Harry held out a hand that Louis immediately squeezed. “So,” Louis began, “is the baby going to be okay?”

“Yes, he’ll be fine.”

A collective exhale echoed off the walls.  

Caroline squeezed Harry’s knee and smiled. “I’ll still have to prescribe you to forty eight hours of pelvic rest until we’re absolutely certain that the threat to miscarry is gone. You'll need to be on bed rest for the rest of the trimester, as well.”

Harry’s eyes bugged out. “That’s two months!”

“Is that a problem?” the OB-GYN asked, arching an eyebrow and standing up.

“No…” he sighed as Louis helped him off the examination chair. “It’s just…a lot of downtime.” A lot of time in general. Harry never did well when all he had was time.

Shuffling papers into the folder, Caroline shrugged. “You’ll be able to walk around; in fact, it’s recommended that you move around a few times a day. You’ll be able to rock baby to sleep that way.”

“Thanks, C,” Louis said when Harry remained silent. “We’ll give you a ring if we notice any more complications.”

“Take it easy, Harry.”

❧

It was two in the morning and Harry had yet to fall asleep. After Louis had went back home (pouting because Harry wouldn’t let him stay), Niall had mothered over Harry for hours, practically fork-feeding him until Harry sent him for something to drink and locked his bedroom door before he could return. That was five hours ago. Harry’s skin felt itchy and he ignored it for staring out into space as he laid on his side, pillow propped underneath his stomach.

He was wondering what colour he should paint his walls when he felt the smallest flurry of movement on his right side. He sat up slowly and watched his stomach ripple once more. “Fuck,” he breathed, blinking back tears. “Don’t scare me like that again, little guy, do you hear me?” There were butterfly kicks in response, and Harry wiped his nose with the back of his hand. “I would actually like to meet you, you know.”

❧

“This is worse than prison, this is horrible, it’s torture in its purest form, it’s—”

“Would you shut up?” Niall grumbled, pressing the remote’s volume with his big toe. “The television can only go so loud, and I can’t hear when you’re all _woe is me and I am woe_.”

Harry threw a crisp at him, but didn’t respond. It hadn’t even been a full week since Doctor Watson had ordered him to bed rest for the remainder of his pregnancy, and he was already sick of it. He was sick of being confined to the first floor of the flat (“for medical reasons,” Louis would remind him before receiving the nearest object to the face). He was sick of his balloons for feet and his constant hot flashes, but the one thing that he was the most sick of was how active his little boy was at night and how he was constantly kicking and stretching and destroying Harry’s spine. If this was what the next two months were going to consist of, then Harry had no clue how he was going to survive.

“You’re being dramatic,” Zayn had said when Harry had _clearly_ spoken of his decreased survival rate to _Louis_ later that night when they came over for dinner. Because that was now a thing, courtesy of Liam, who happened to be taking his uncle status quite seriously unlike Mr. Arsehole.

“What do you know?” Harry asked, his eyes reduced to slits as he glared over his specially-made, non-spicy curry. Disgusting was an understatement. “How about you try carrying around two hundred extra pounds for seven months and see how you like it.”

“Two hundred –?” Liam began but shut his mouth when he was met with Harry’s scowl.

Niall hadn’t gotten the memo apparently, because he snorted, almost choking on his very normal, very-spicy curry. Rude. “H, you’re definitely carrying less than forty extra pounds – I heard your Doc say it. Plus, your stomach is small as hell!”

“Shut up,” Harry fumed while Zayn and Liam laughed. He turned to his – hopefully – non-traitor boyfriend, who looked on with hardly-disguised mirth swimming in his eyes. “What’s funny?”

Louis smiled and leaned over to kiss the tip of the boy’s nose. He chuckled when Harry wrinkled it in response. “You’re so cute, love.” He put his hand on top of the bump. “You and your two hundred pound weight gain.”

Harry began to say something, affronted, but Louis licked his sworn alliance into his mouth, so Harry decided to let him slide…this time.


	7. April - May

○ April ○

He felt like death.

You know, it would have been nice if one out of the umpteenth brochures and parenting packets Caroline happened to continuously shove into Harry’s hands after every appointment had mentioned something about the labour pains he would experience during the last week. But no, there wasn’t even a bullet point. He was furious, and quite frankly, majorly unprepared.

“Louis, hurry up!” The words echoed off the newly painted walls – midnight blue and toxic smelling – and Harry felt claustrophobic although the walls were nowhere near the bed. _(Yes,_ the bed was in the middle of the room. _No,_ Harry absolutely did not beg Niall to move it there so he could be closer to the door.)

He dug his heels into the sheets as a searing pain soared down his spine, and if he wasn’t a billion pounds, he would definitely be arching off the mattress. Instead, all he could do was turn over on his side (ouch – ribs) and summon Louis to appear at the door with his pregnancy senses. He was contemplating screeching again when his lovely, amazing, doting boyfriend arrived in the doorway, all wide eyed and sleep tousled hair. Harry wished he could sleep. He also wished he could cut the baby out of his abdomen himself. Could save a bit of time.

“Honey; love; hi, I am in pain,” Harry gritted, wrapping his arms around Louis’ neck as he was lifted off the mattress. He immediately buried his face into his boy’s neck, grounded himself in the smell of body wash. Because yes, Louis was in the shower, fresh off tour, when Harry received his first series of contractions.

Louis hooked Harry’s long, spaghetti limbs around his left forearm while making sure the belly wasn’t being squished. “I know, H, just keep breathing like the doctor told you.”

And oh, that’s rich, because it was not like Harry was simply going to _stop_ breathing. He opened his mouth to say so, but a squeak erupted from his throat as a spasm wracked his lower belly and back, his legs kicking out stiff and automatically cramping from disuse. “ _Lou, Lou, Lou_ ,” he chanted breathlessly, barely able to spot his toes – outstretched and contorted as if he had swam for too long – over his baby bump. “I’m going to die. And it’s all your fault.”

“You’re not going to die, bug,” huffed Louis, who rubbed the tense muscles in Harry’s legs until they relaxed. He also rubbed at the sore spot of back that Harry was always complaining about while he carried him down the steps, out the front door, and into Niall’s waiting car. It was small, which Harry knew and despised rightfully so, but that only meant Harry was able to stretch out in the back seat. At least that was Niall’s reasoning. Whatever.

The drive to the hospital was no longer than ten minutes – in theory – but maybe they forgot to calculate the possibility of Harry going into labour during rush hour. Just bloody maybe.

“I’m going to kill you,” Harry mouthed into the seat cushion, his body twisted weirdly as he buried his head into the seat and squeezed Louis’ hand. Tightly. The baby hammered at Harry’s ribcage and kidneys, and if Harry wasn’t worried that Niall would drive off the road (seriously, why did they decide to take Niall’s car), then he would be screaming. He opted to writhe in near-silence, however, because he didn’t fancy dying – no matter how much his back was cracking in agony.

Twenty extra minutes was a really long time to die it turned out. Louis’ voice was proof that Harry was at the big gate before Heaven. Or Hell. He wasn’t choosy. “We’re here, love.”

“I can fucking see that,” Harry spat. He couldn’t see anything, actually, because his face was still smashed against the leather.

“Don’t be fucking rude, H,” Niall chided, unbuckling himself and getting out the car.

He moved his head when the light dinged with the door opening, and he dared anyone to comment on the long string of saliva that connected from his mouth to the seat.

“That’s gross,” Niall said, face turned up as he helped Harry out of the car.

An insane contraction rippled through right as Harry opened his mouth to retort, so he had to result in squeezing his insult into the blond boy’s hand instead. Louis and a nurse came out of the hospital with a wheelchair and Harry cursed once he sat down. It felt like he was sitting on a bowling ball. He was going to _die._

“You’re not going to die,” the nurse said, because apparently he had spoken of his destiny out loud. He looked at her in her blue and green frog scrubs and decided that he liked her, so if she said he wasn’t going to die, then –

 _“Louis!”_ he shrieked as his stomach trembled noticeably underneath his thin shirt.

“I’m here, baby,” Louis mollified from right above him, stroking his hair as the nurse wheeled him through the doors. “Hold onto my hand.”

The twenty extra minutes had given his OB-GYN enough time to speed over, so she was waiting for him once he was dressed in a robe apparently made out of paper towel and quality socks and given spinal anaesthesia. “You ready to have a baby?” Caroline asked, her smile wide as she unhooked his bed.

Harry turned his head so he could see where Louis was standing off to the side sending wild texts to the “support group” to inform them to get their arses to the waiting room stat. He looked up from his screen and gave a Harry a thumbs up. Harry returned the gesture before turning back to his doctor. “If I say ‘no’ that won’t stop Ellis from coming would it?” he asked with a timid smile.

“Afraid not, love.” Caroline smiled and squeezed his hand. “But on the bright side, you’ll get to finally meet your son.”

And he figured she wasn’t wrong there. He took in a deep breath and nodded. “Okay. Let’s do it.”

❧

“Why is Niall cuddled up with Zayn in the waiting room?”

Harry looked up from where his nurse was adding more medicine to his IV to see his sister walk into the hospital room. She was wearing sunglasses and her hair was slightly mussed from her seven hour flight. Fashionable even when jet lagged. “Morning, Gem.”

“Good morning, baby bro,” she said, swooping in to plant a kiss on his cheek. “You look beautiful.”

Snorting, Harry winced and pushed a pillow to his scar. “Thanks for noticing,” he replied. “Also, I have no clue why whatever you saw out there is happening but it is.”

Gemma opened her mouth to respond but froze when she glanced around the room. “Where’s the baby?”

The nurse chuckled as she bandaged Harry’s hand. “I’ll be bringing him in to start cohabitation in a few minutes. Harry, you’ll need to start walking in a few hours to get your blood flowing, all right?”

Harry nodded and smiled when Gemma mouthed ‘ _the hell is cohabitation?_ ’ behind the lady’s head. Once the nurse left, he moved over on the bed so that Gemma could sit down. “How are you?”

His sister snorted and poked him in the cheek. “How am I? How are _you?_ You just had a really big surgery to give me a nephew, who cares how I am?”

“I didn’t feel anything for the most part,” he said, glancing over to where Louis was snoring in one of the chairs, a blanket thrown over his wild limbs and his mouth wide open. “Just some tugging. I haven’t seen Ellis since last night actually.”

Gemma’s eyes bugged out. “I could never. Where’s Mum by the way?”

Harry shook out his hair before pushing it out of his face. “At my flat, dog-sitting. Well, technically she’s getting everything ready for when I go home, but she’s mainly making sure the puppy doesn’t chew out the furniture.”

“I need to meet this lovely puppy.”

The nurse brought in Ellis’ clear crib and Harry swore that his sister was about to squeal her head off. “Oh my god, he’s perfect,” she whispered, picking up the newborn and cradling him in her arms. “Hello, Baby Ellis, I’m your Auntie Gemma.”

Harry smiled sleepily and tried not to agitate the needle in his hand as he reached for his water. “What a creative name.”

“Hush, you,” Gemma said, continuing to make faces at Ellis who had opened his eyes. “And, um, there’s someone else in the waiting room for you.”

“Who?” Harry asked, reclining back on the bed. He wasn’t expecting anyone since Louis had told all their friends and family that once Harry was discharged in a few days there would be a get together at Harry’s flat.

“Dad.”

Closing his eyes was the only way Harry could keep from rolling them out of his head. Leave it to Gemma to attempt a family reunion while Harry was drugged up. “Why is he here?” he groaned, too numb and fatigued to be angry.

Next to him, Louis stirred, stretching his arms above his head and blinking awake. “Hey, Gem,” he yawned into his palm.

“Don’t greet her,” Harry said before Gemma could respond.

She responded anyway, slowly rocking Ellis in her arms. “Good morning, Lou. Your boyfriend here is upset that his father came to see his _grandchild.”_ She punctuated the word with a sharp look to Harry – and really, Harry was still debating if that relationship was going to happen.

“Des is here?” Louis reiterated, rubbing his eyes and stifling another yawn. “Well tell him to get his arse up here then!”

 _“Lou,”_ Harry whined, but Gemma was already handing Louis the baby and springing up from the bed.

“Splendid! Be right back,” she chirped, heading for the door.

How splendid indeed.

❧

It wasn’t so weird, having Des hold Ellis, and the world didn’t erupt into flames like Harry had been expecting. He wasn’t totally happy with the scene, but he wasn’t uncomfortable either, which was what Louis had told him to let him know if he was. Of course Harry wasn’t going to be uncomfortable, not with Gemma and Louis stupidily grinning as Ellis cooed up at the man. He wasn’t going to forgive anything, obviously, but as long as Louis was happy, Harry could cope with having his father back in his life.

❧

The first day back home was quite an event. Harry’s flat was decorated with balloons and banners and smelled of food as the rooms filled up with strangers. (They weren’t actually strangers, per se, since they were friends of Niall and Louis. Still – Harry couldn’t recognise half of them.) Ellis didn’t cry much, opting to nap through being passed amongst family members.

The second day started off similarly, and Harry got to sleep off most of his pain in between visits and when Gemma was getting ready to return to the airport. “See you around, baby bro,” she said that afternoon. “Got a plane to catch.” Gemma laughed when he pouted up at her, half-asleep. “Some of us still have uni to attend.”

“You’ll be back in the summer, yeah?”

“Yes.” She hugged him around the shoulders before straightening and grabbing her suitcase. “Love you. Have fun being a daddy!”

So today hadn’t been bad at all, it was after everyone had gone back home that Harry finally got a taste of parenthood.

“Lou,” he called over the baby’s wailing, close to tears himself. Of course the moment Harry was left to deal with Ellis himself was when the one week old decided to test out his lungs. And they worked impressively well.

Giving up on the bottle, Harry nudged Louis again, feeling bad for waking him so soon from his nap. “Sorry,” he said as Louis sat up with bleary eyes. “He won’t stop crying long enough to eat.”

“Let me see ‘im,” Louis murmured, taking the screaming infant into his arms. After a moment or so, Ellis quieted down, and _how was that fair_?

“What the hell?” Harry breathed, astonished and only a little bit sad. Okay – a whole lot sad. He could only do so much while recovering from his caesarean, but he couldn’t even get their son ready for bed without help.

“Come on, H, don’t cry.”

“I’m not crying.” He was crying actually, tears dripping down into his shirt. “Why does he only cry with me?”

He watched as he handed over the formula and how Ellis latched on right away. “He’s a baby, Haz,” Louis explained, rocking lightly. “Tomorrow he’ll be crying with everyone.”

Harry didn’t believe that for one second. “Whatever. Give him back.”

Louis looked up with a raised eyebrow. “You sure?”

 _“Yes,_ I’m sure.” As soon as Ellis was back in his arms, the little guy’s face crumbled, but Harry beat him to the crying part.

“Harry, it’s okay,” Louis tried to pacify, but Harry simply shook his head and handed over the baby again.

“No, it’s not. How am I supposed to take care of him when you go back to the studio? Or on the nights you go home to Zayn? I need him to like me in order for me to be a good dad!” He was full on sobbing now, and Louis looked five seconds away from giving up.

He laid Ellis on his shoulder and tapped his back to burp him. “You’re not a bad dad, love. You’re a new dad – we both are. You’re not doing anything wrong if he cries with you, Harry, you’re doing your best and that’s enough.”

“It doesn’t feel like enough,” Harry said, leaning his head on Louis’ other shoulder.

Ellis let out a small belch and sniffled. Louis exhaled and turned his head to kiss Harry’s forehead. “How about I take El downstairs to your mum and then we can get in the bath to relax.” Harry started to protest but Louis tugged at one of his curls and he closed his mouth automatically. “She’s only here for a few more days, we might as well be resourceful.”

Humming his consent, Harry moved his head so Louis could get up. “Rose lavender soap?”

He heard Louis’ laughter as he went down the corridor to the stairs. “Anything for you, Harry.”

❧

Harry probably should have been taking bubble baths for the past year with the way they relaxed him almost as soon as he settled in the water. He leant against Louis’ chest, focusing on the vibrations as Louis hummed a song he was working on. While he had been waiting for Louis to come back upstairs, he felt dejected when he couldn’t hear Ellis crying anymore which meant Anne had also gotten him to eat. 

(“I just want to be capable of doing things on my own, you know?” he had confessed while Louis had been filling the tub. “I don’t like depending on people.”

Louis had nodded and gone over to help Harry remove his shirt without it catching on his otherwise healing scar. “I know, bug. But how are you going to do things on your own if you won’t let yourself learn how to do them? There’s nothing wrong with having a helping hand sometimes.”)

Harry's mind was clear now as Louis pressed kisses down his shoulder blade, across his back, and over to the other side. His lips felt like the rose oil that laced the water; felt like what Harry assumed heaven to feel like. Like blue fire.

He must have fallen asleep because the next thing he knew was that the water was cold and Louis was helping him out and into a fluffy towel.

“You’re too good to me,” Harry whispered, and Louis shushed him by brushing their mouths together.

“Am I?” he hummed, rubbing vanilla-scented lotion into Harry’s skin. “Pretty sure you don’t understand how much you deserve all of this.” He glanced up with a fond expression shining across his face.

Harry stared back, accepting the pants and joggers Louis handed him with a quiet ‘thanks’. “I don’t know why I love hearing you say that.”

Louis smiled and kissed the top of his head. “Because you know it’s true.”

Harry felt a smile of his own spread across his cheeks. “Maybe.”

“Maybe my voice is just beautiful, as you so eloquently put it less than thirty minutes ago.”

Harry giggled and slid on his clothes. “Probably.”

❧

By the time his mum brought Ellis back up to the room, adorned in his banana onesie and yellow mittens, Harry was in utter bliss as he cuddled into Louis’ chest.

“I think he wants his daddy; wouldn’t fall asleep but probably because Niall was snapping photos of him,” Anne said as she placed the baby into Harry’s arms.

Harry tensed up immediately, but Louis was already running a soothing hand down his back. “You got this, love.”

Nodding slowly, Harry propped Ellis in the crook of his elbow and peered down. The baby gurgled but didn’t open his mouth to cry. Which, yeah, Harry could shout hallelujah. “Hi, Elly,” he whispered, caressing his soft cheeks.

Ellis blinked his pale eyes up at his father, each time slower than the previous until they remained closed. His face twitched for a moment before he grinned, and Harry could burst from the amount of love he felt suddenly.

“Good job, duckie,” Anne said, and when he glanced over she was smiling with tears in her eyes.

His gaze shifted to Louis then, who looked about as smitten as Harry felt. “Knew you could do it,” Louis said, hugging him close. **  
**

○May ○

Harry cupped his hand full of lukewarm water and tilted to rinse the suds off of the baby’s head. Ellis’ hair had come in a light shade the past seven weeks and had started to wisp up at the ends. “Look what I have, Elly!” He held up a rubber duck and giggled when Ellis’ eyes widened and he reached to grasp at the toy. “All right,” he said after wiping off the baby’s tummy and picking him up out of the sink. “Time to get ready for a bottle.” Harry wrapped him in a towel and walked down the hallway to the bedroom.

As he finished folding the edges of a nappy down, the door downstairs closed and Ellis turned his head when he heard Louis' voice and Niall's before the stairs creaked under footsteps. “Hi, Elly Belly!” Louis gushed when he walked into the room, lifting Ellis from the table when he began to kick out his legs excitedly. “How was your first day back at school?” he asked Harry as their baby began to suck on his shirt.

Harry picked up a bottle from the warmer, tapping the nipple on the back of his hand before handing it to Louis. “It was interesting. I’m not really digging spending so much time away from El though, so I think I’m going to sign up for summer courses. Reduce my autumn credit hours and all that.” He yawned and grabbed a blanket and onesie out of the top drawer before crawling into bed. His bones melted as soon as he relaxed into the mattress, and he had to resist against the heaviness of his eyelids.

Louis climbed into the bed beside him and took the pyjamas from his grasp. “Did you pack the bag for the check up in the morning?”

“Yes,” Harry mumbled into his pillow. Who knew seven hours of school would make him feel more exhausted than his whole two months of taking care of a baby?

He heard Louis chuckle before leaning over and kissing Harry on the head. “Get some sleep, Haz.”

❧

Harry woke up a few hours later to Ellis’ cries, and after he did a quick nappy change, he rocked the baby back to sleep before placing him in the bassinet. Louis blinked his eyes open as Harry crawled back into bed, and his mouth spread into a languid grin. “Hi, baby,” he croaked, voice rough with sleep.

“Hello, sir,” Harry giggled and pressed his mouth against his. “Thanks for staying tonight. I know it’s your night, but still. Thank you.”

Louis propped himself up on his elbow and rubbed at his eyes. He had faint purples under them from balancing studio and parenting time, and it made Harry’s heart surge like a rocket when they would spring up biweekly. “I love you,” Louis said, running a thumb over Harry’s lips.

“I love you more.” Harry wrapped his arms around Louis’ chest, pulling himself closer to bury his nose in his bare skin. He purred when one of Louis’ hands found itself in his curls while the other one cupped his arse.

“Impossible,” Louis whispered, his chest vibrating deeply. It felt like crushed stars underneath Harry’s cheek, reminding Harry that the two of them had created the tiny supernova that slept mere metres away. Reminded Harry of how he himself had been made of the universe’s history this entire time.

They fell asleep as the sun was rising, and, for once, Harry didn’t feel as if he were burning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you lasted until the end ha. No, but if you did: thanks SO MUCH for reading, I hope it wasn't too messy? I'm still new to this writing thing. That being said: I'd appreciate any and every kudo and comment whether it be negative or positive or random letters strung together. Also you can reblog [this post](http://oceanic-galaxy.tumblr.com/post/112377512755/gasoline-stars-48235-words-by-galacticlourry) if you really liked the story. Have a nice rest of your day/night/weekend/holiday/birthday/etc.


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